Good Old Fashioned Barton Christmas
by madscientist1313
Summary: Clint reminds Bucky that it's almost Christmas, and that is not the time of year to sit around being miserable, wandering aimlessly around the empty compound, pondering impossible decisions. It's the time of year to be happy – or at least learn how to fake being happy – with family. Follow-up to We Grow Together.
1. A Break From This Place

"Oh, damn!" Clint winces as he watches Bucky blindly stumble back off the mat, away from the young man who just nailed him with a round kick to the face. "Shit, Malcom," he says to the new recruit as he tries to tamp down the chuckle rising in his throat. "That's probably the _last_ nose you want to break around here."

The man's eyes are wide with terror, especially once Bucky turns on him from the side of the mat. "I… I…" he stammers out, holding his hands up in front him in a defensive posture. "I'm _so_ sorry."

Bucky stares at him through water-logged eyes. "Don't," he says, voice deep and nasal. He reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose before giving it a sharp twist. A sickening _crack-pop _ reverberates through their corner of the training gym, causing Malcom to pale even further. "Don't apologize."

"But… I…" The young blond – like most of the recruits – has been told time and again by their often menacing mentor not to pull his punches. But even so… the thought of actually making the Winter Soldier bleed is enough to make the kid nearly piss himself. "I…"

Clint chokes on a laugh as Malcom continues to sputter. "You…" he says, elongating the word to try and get him to finish the thought.

"You're done," Bucky says simply, still staring at the man with dark, pained eyes. "No more training today."

Malcom nods spastically and almost trips over his own feet as he turns and sprints out of the gym. Bucky watches as he goes, unsure if the fact that the kid is so terrified of him annoys him or delights him.

"Oh," Clint howls from behind. "That was amazing!"

He turns to see the archer doubled over, laughing so hard he's nearly crying. "It's not _that_ funny," he mutters, moving over to the bench in search of a towel. He grabs a shirt instead – he's pretty sure it's Malcom's shirt, actually – and he presses it to his nose to stanch the flow of blood.

"It was _hilarious_," he tells him as he tries to calm his breathing. "Did you see his face?"

Bucky nods. "Yeah, I saw it."

"Whew!" Clint plops down on the bench next to him and lets out a long sigh followed by just one more chuckle. He turns to the bleeding man to his left. "You want me to escort you to medical?" he asks with a wink.

"Now _that_ would be hilarious."

"Well, I can see if our team doctor will make a house call," he intones. "Should be easy enough to get her to do it, considering she's already in your house."

Bucky pulls away the shirt and sees that most of the bleeding has already stopped. But he's sure his face is going to look like hell for at least the rest of the day. "Yeah, right." He winces as he pokes at the swollen flesh between his eyes. "I gotta think of something to do to keep me out of the apartment 'til this starts to heal."

Clint makes a _tsk tsk_ and shakes his head. "Keeping secrets," he mocks. "I expected more from you, Sarge."

Bucky gives him a threatening stare, made all the more intimidating by his bruised and blood-stained face. "She doesn't need to worry about something that'll be healed in a day," he says, tone sharp.

He throws his hands up in mock surrender – "If you say so." – and lets out a light laugh. "I think you're just scared she'll yell at you for trying to fix it yourself."

"You're damn right, I am," he mutters absently.

The two men sit in silence for a long moment before Clint asks, "How are things going, anyway?" Bucky turns to him and cocks a single, questioning eyebrow. "It's been a couple weeks since you guys met with… what's his name? The teacher…"

"Professor," he corrects. "Xavier."

"Right. Yeah." He looks over at Bucky and connects eyes with him. "Still no decision?"

He drops his gaze almost immediately, looking down at the floor when he solemnly admits, "No."

Clint nods to himself. "Yeah, I figured. It's a hell of a thing to have to decide, I guess." It's obvious that he's trying to entice Bucky into talking about their current conundrum. "I mean, do you choose to have your memories wiped – _again_ – just so you can move on with this life you've built?" Bucky inadvertently shudders at the question, but says nothing in response, continuing to train his gaze on the floor. "Or do you get your memories back, your _life_ back… even if it ends up changing everything you thought you knew about yourself?"

Bucky shakes his head. "Don't know," he utters, words clipped short. "Not my decision to make."

"Yeah, but you've been thinking about it," Clint almost hums out. At that, Bucky finally looks up at him, his eyes betraying only a hint of surprise. Clint raises his brows. "You're sure as hell thinking about _something_," he says. "I've never seen you that distracted before." He motions towards the mat in front of them, the one still slick with sweat and drops of blood. "That wasn't even a particularly good move," he snorts out.

Bucky's brow furrows. "It was a solid kick."

"Solid maybe. But no way would you have missed blocking that if you'd been paying attention."

He thinks about arguing, even opens his mouth to do so, but stops when he realizes that there's really no point. Clint's right. It's obvious as hell that he was distracted out there. He drops his head and runs his fingers through his hair. "I'm just tired of… of living in limbo," he admits with an exhausted sigh.

"You know what I think?" Clint asks, an odd lilt to his voice. Bucky says nothing, just raises an eyebrow and waits for him to go on. "I think you two need a break. A break from this place." He looks around the giant training center, eyes tracking out the wall of windows to take in the stark, cold grounds leading to the barren trees beyond. "Doc's been holed up in that apartment for weeks. And you've been doing nothing but training these noobs and worrying about her. You two need to get away. Clear your heads."

"She's still on crutches." He protests weakly. "She's not even supposed to be putting any weight on that leg yet. The whole reason she's in the apartment is because she's supposed to be taking it easy."

Clint snorts again. "I saw her hobble into her office just yesterday." Bucky's eyes widen in surprise. "Do _not_ tell her I ratted her out."

He lets out a long sigh. "The point is, now isn't exactly the best time for a vacation."

Clint reminds him that it's almost Christmas, and that is _not_ the time of year to sit around being miserable, wandering aimlessly around the empty compound, pondering impossible decisions. It's the time of year to be _happy_ – or at least learn how to fake being happy – with family.

Bucky gives him a suspicious look.

"Come home with me," he says with a genuine smile. "Come stay at my place for the holidays. It'll be good. It'll get you two out of New York, out of the compound… out of your own heads. C'mon! I'm telling you, a good old fashioned Barton Christmas is exactly what you and Doc need."

"We're not going to intrude on your holiday, Clint," he says with an almost smug smirk. "Like you just said, Christmas is for family."

He scoffs loudly. "Yeah, I know. And that's just what you are. Besides, it's just as much Laura's idea as it is mine – though I'm taking credit for it. But she's been wanting to see Doc again, especially since the accident." He pauses and lets out a low breath, his expression turning almost grave. "I really think it'd be good for her," he says in a serious tone. "Good for both of you."

Bucky shakes his head absently. "I don't know."

"C'mon, Sarge," he says, dropping a palm to the man's shoulder and giving him a sharp shake. "Get some… normalcy. Haven't you had enough of this _superhero_ life for a bit?"

He gnaws at his bottom lip. "Steve did say that he and Romanov might still be gone on their recon mission through the holidays." Clint wiggles his eyebrows at him, almost seething with excitement, and Bucky can't help but smile at his childlike demeanor. "I'll talk to Tessa. If she's up for it…"

He bounces up from the bench. "I'll tell Laura to make up the guestroom," he shoots out as he turns on a heel and races for the door.

* * *

_And so begins the third part of the Supernova Series. This story will be a bit shorter... more of an interlude. And while there's bound to be some angst, I'm feeling the need for a little fluff right about now, so be prepared for that. _

**Disclaimer:** I own none of the MCU. 


	2. Pure Chaos

Life in the giant, mostly remodeled farmhouse actually didn't feel all that different from life at the compound. Sure, there were more high-pitched screams and frustrated sobs than they'd hear from the Avengers on a typical day. But the overall atmosphere of the place – being perpetually on the brink of chaos – felt very much like home.

The moment they walk in the door, the annoyed groan of the 11-year-old boy who was asked to carry their bags upstairs gets drown out by the screech of a naked toddler sliding down the steps and streaking in front of them on the way to his father. Tessa twists wildly to get out of the kid's way, almost tripping over her own crutch. Bucky rights her quickly, but he realizes in that moment that this _vacation _might've been a bad idea.

"As if you weren't overprotective enough already," Tessa snipes at him later that evening as they head into the living room after dinner. She turns to him as he crowds closer. "I promise, I won't let the baby trip me."

He raises his eyebrows and lets out a long sigh. "I don't think you _can_ promise that, doll."

She shakes him off and hobbles to the couch, flopping down just as the swift patter of small feet begins pounding down the stairs. She cranes her neck to check out the commotion, not at all surprised to find that Bucky is already perched on the arm of the sofa, looming protectively over her.

"Lila!" Clint shouts as the little girl races around him, charging headlong towards her baby brother on the other side of the room. For his part, little Nathaniel collapses on the spot, breaking down into a giant, terrified sob at the sight of his sister. Her face is bright red, anger lacing her features as she lunges for him, coming so achingly close to throttling the boy within an inch of his life. His hands shoot up to cover his face as he lets out an ear-piercing wail. "Nope," Clint mutters, spinning suddenly and sweeping the girl off her feet before she can reach the toddler.

"Daddy!" she cries out, tiny fists beating into his forearm as he tightens it around her, dragging her out of the room. "He broke my pony!"

"That doesn't mean you get to break _him_," he says with a calm authority. He deposits her onto the stairs with a small _thunk_, kneeling in front of her to block her escape.

"He's always breaking my stuff," she whines, folding her arms across her chest and frowning deeply.

"Well, that's because your stuff is the most fun to break," he says with a small, crooked smile.

"Not helping," Laura tosses over her shoulder as she glides into the living room. Bucky jumps up to help her with the tray of hot cocoas she's carrying. "Thanks," she breathes out quickly before turning around and sweeping Nate off the floor. "You're fine," she tells the crying boy, placing him on her hip and giving a little bounce. She looks back over at Bucky and Tessa and mutters simply, "Sorry about that."

"It happens _all the time_," Cooper intones dramatically as he reaches for a mug from the tray that Bucky set on the coffee table. To Laura's delight, the boy hands the mug over to Tessa, who's now settled into the corner of the couch with her left leg raised and resting on a fluffy pillow atop the table. "Here you go," he says to Bucky after, offering him the next mug.

Bucky smiles at him as he gingerly takes a seat next to Tessa, sandwiching her in between his body and the arm of the couch. "Thanks," he says, leaning back just a fraction, still on guard lest a small child race over and crash into his girl.

"Last week," Cooper starts, plunking a handful of mini-marshmallows atop his cocoa, "Nate peed in Lila's bed." He shakes his head despondently, passing the bowl of marshmallows over to Tessa, who gratefully digs out a handful for herself. "It was totally gross. He wasn't sleeping in her bed or anything. He just climbed up there and pulled off his diaper and peed."

"I hear dogs do that if they love you," Tessa says, grabbing another small handful of candy and shoving it straight into her mouth. Bucky gives her a bit of a dirty look before snatching the bowl away.

"I wouldn't know," Cooper sighs. "We can't have a dog."

"Having younger siblings is pretty close," Bucky tells him with a quirked brow. "And eventually they learn to use the toilet. Most dogs can't do that."

"I'm not convinced Nate's ever gonna learn," he replies with a rather self-assured nod.

"He's not even two," Laura defends, settling the now smiling boy down into the giant armchair next to her. She reaches out for the sippy cup on the platter and grabs it to hand to Nathaniel.

"Yeah," Clint says, walking over with his hands on Lila's shoulders as he marches her forward. "You were four before you poo-pooed in the potty."

"Dad!" Cooper's face blanches, a horrified expression taking over. "God!"

Clint just shrugs before leaning down and saying into his daughter's ear, "Tell Nate you're sorry."

Her bottom lip trembles just the slightest bit, chin jutting defiantly. She says nothing.

Clint leans forward and whispers to her, "You have to go first, baby."

"Sorry," she issues out quickly.

"And Nathaniel," he starts, reaching out and quickly swiping some snot from the boy's face with the corner of his sleeve. "Did you break your sister's… what was it?" he asks, turning to Lila.

"My pony, Twilight Sparkle ," she responds, her voice carrying a note of despair that, despite being due simply to a busted toy, tugs at his heart.

"Did you break your sister's pony?" he asks, face and tone serious.

"Twilight Sparkle," Lila supplies softly from her spot next to him.

"Yeah," Nate squeaks out. He holds tight to his sippy cup, dropping his head in what could only be considered temporary toddler shame. "Sowwy," he says softly, without being prompted.

Clint pats him on his tiny leg and offers a closed-lip smile before twisting around to sit on the floor. He tugs Lila into his lap, pinning her down with his arm. "But he's just gonna do it again," she says, only slightly struggling to escape her father's grip. "Tell him not to," she whines, arching back into him.

Laura gets up and hands her a small mug of cocoa, the top covered in partially melted marshmallows. "He doesn't understand, baby," Clint whispers into her hair as he pulls her closer. "We'll just have to keep a closer eye on him."

"You know what you need," Tessa says slowly from her corner of the couch. "You need stables. With a lock." She raises her mug in Lila's direction and gives her a wink.

"Hey, there's an idea," Clint intones. "Maybe Santa'll bring you something like that."

Laura heads back over to the group – having just disappeared in search of booze – with two bottles of liquor in her hands. "Or maybe Daddy can build you one," she says, setting down a bottle of caramel-flavored vodka and opting instead to pop open the bottle of bourbon. "You know, since nothing like that exists in the toy store, AKA Santa's workshop." She pours about two fingers worth of liquor into an otherwise cocoa-filled mug and hands it over to Clint, who lets out an exasperated huff.

"James can help," Tessa supplies as she shifts and awkwardly reaches out for the vodka on the table.

Without so much as a glance in her direction, Bucky throws up his right hand and gently pushes her back into the couch cushions. "Sure," he mutters as she lets out a small squeak of protest.

"I want," she whines, dramatically struggling against the hand on her chest. He holds out his mug and Laura tops it off with the bourbon. "No fair!"

He turns to face her, a gleam in his eye. "Did you just take another Percocet?" he asks as he brings the mug to his lips, barely hiding the teasing smile.

Her mouth drops open. "So? It was one. Over an hour ago."

Laura opens up the vodka and pours some into her drink before moving to Tessa's side. "It's fine," she claims. Bucky looks up at her, knitting his brows together suspiciously. "I broke my arm a week before high school graduation, so trust me, I know a thing or two about drinking while on pain meds."

"Our children are in the room," Clint singsongs, throwing a glance at the armchair to his left where Nate is curled up, very nearly asleep. He takes another quick sip before setting down his mug and playfully rocking Lila in his lap.

She shrugs and looks back at Bucky, who still has a single, protective hand plastered across Tessa's chest. "Just a splash," she says with a lilt.

"Fine," he mutters, voice deep and hesitant, as he slowly drops his hand down into her lap.

Lila leans over excitedly and taps him on the leg. And the moment he looks down at her, Laura pours about three fingers worth of vodka into Tessa's mug, which earns her a big smile and a silent thumbs up from the woman. "I broke my arm last year," Lila says, bouncing in her father's lap. "When Daddy pushed me out of a tree."

"Whoa," Clint laughs nervously. "That is _not_ how it happened."

Bucky raises a brow, teasing smile back on his face, just directed elsewhere. "Really?" he asks with seeming fascination.

"Uh, yeah, really. I wouldn't push my kid out of a tree." He frowns for a brief moment. "At least not this one."

"He said he'd teach me how to climb, and then he pushed me," the little girl says in a no-nonsense tone as she haphazardly shoves some hair out of her eyes.

Bucky shakes his head and sighs. "Seems like a pretty tight report to me," he tells Clint. "And so far, she's given me no reason not to trust her."

A look of absolute shock washes over Clint's face. "She's seven! You can't trust a 7 year old!"

"Why not?"

"Yeah, Dad," Lila says, quirking her face up to look him in the eye, "why not?"

"I…" he sputters, mouth agape, glancing over at the women at the end of the sofa who are watching him with barely concealed amusement. "I… didn't push her." Without realizing, he tightens his hold on the little girl. "I was reaching down to help her and she jumped up to the next branch without looking."

"Oh so you're blaming her?" Laura asks, eyes alight with laughter despite the otherwise perfect game face.

"No, I'm not… She just… she wasn't looking up when I swung my hand down and…"

"You pushed your daughter out of a tree," Bucky finishes for him with an exaggerated _tsk_. He tips his mug towards him and dips his head in salute. "That's good parenting," he says before taking a long pull of hot cocoa.

"Oh, shut up," he barks. "Getting parenting advice from a thousand-year-old, childless assassin," he mumbles to himself. Then, "Hey," as Lila wiggles free from his grasp and climbs up onto the couch next to Bucky. Clint's face drops into a pitiful frown, pulling giggles from both Laura and Tessa. "Shut up," he repeats solemnly as he rises from his spot and moves into the giant chair at his left, carefully rolling the sleeping toddler into his lap.

Lila settles in beside Bucky and pulls his metal hand into her lap. "Your hand's so shiny," she says, her small fingers delicately tracing along the seams in the metal plates at the base of his wrist.

He leans forward and sets down his mug, then sinks back into the couch, raising his hand up in front of the girl and twisting it around as he makes a fist. "Yeah," he says simply, "I guess it is." She takes hold of his fingers and tries to bend them herself. He lets her pull them straight, then he quickly tugs them back into a fist, trapping her small fingers in his. She lets out a gleeful laugh and a buoyant smile takes over his face.

"Lila, honey," Laura starts from her perch on the opposite arm of the sofa. "Remember, we told you that James has a prosthetic arm? He was hurt in the war."

She looks up at him and throws back her shoulders. "I'm gonna join the Army when I'm older," she says, a little too matter-of-factly.

"No you're not," Clint corrects. He shakes his head, eyebrows high. "Wouldn't be fair to the enemy to have _you_ on the front lines."

"Were you in the Army?" Cooper asks. He rises to his knees from his spot on the floor, reaching across the table to grab the marshmallow bowl. Once he plucks a few for himself, he carefully deposits the half-empty bowl in Tessa's lap.

Bucky observes the gesture with a small grin. "Yeah. A long time ago."

Lila continues to caress the metal plates in his hand as she asks, "Did you get blown up?"

"Lila!" her mother chides.

But if Bucky's either offended or alarmed by her question, he doesn't show it. "I fell off a train," he tells her without hesitation.

She raises her eyebrows and shakes her head slowly. "Bet that hurt almost as much as being pushed out of a tree."

"Okay," Clint blurts out, rising with a groan as he hikes Nathaniel up onto his hip. He reaches down to wrap his arm around the middle of the now deliriously giggly little girl and hoists her up as well, tossing her over his shoulder. "Time for bed. Say goodnight," he issues out quickly as he heads for the stairs.

"Goodnight," the adults all say in unison, waving to the trio as they go.

Laura turns to Cooper. "You too, champ," she says, patting the boy on the shoulder. He gives her a look, but before he can protest, she reminds him, "If you want to go out with your dad and James in the morning, you better get to bed."

"You don't have to get up to early to hunt ducks," he tells her glibly.

Bucky leans forward, grabbing the bottle of bourbon. "You do if you want to head out with us," he says, cocking a challenging brow.

Cooper stifles the immature huff that he's so desperate to make and instead gives a firm nod. "Goodnight," he offers meekly before shuffling out of the room.

Laura waits until he's gone, then she turns to them, aghast. "I'm keeping you," she says, reaching down to refill her mug with straight vodka. She crosses over and drops down into the big armchair. "Seriously, he's _never_ been so polite, so agreeable, so… not a preteen. Will you move in with us?"

Tessa snorts out a laugh. "It'd be a helluva commute."

"We always keep our liquor cabinet fully stocked," she says, nudging the tray of booze across the table with her foot.

"No," Bucky nearly growls as Tessa makes a move to reach out for a bottle.

Laura just laughs. "He's very protective, that one."

He leans over and looks her dead in the eye. "She's on three different types of medications. She's down to one kidney. And she has _never_ known her limits."

Tessa shifts a bit and gives the back of his shirt a little tug. "You think you gotta take care of me?" she asks with an impish grin.

He turns to face her, gives her a serious stare in response. "You oughta let me take care of you," he says softly, just for her, before falling back to settle into the cushions beside her.

Laura lets out a deep sigh. "God, you two are cute," she mutters with a shake of her head. She cradles her mug close to her chest, her face suddenly splitting into a wide grin. "And I'm so glad you're here!"

"You really didn't have to invite us," Tessa tells her, a solemn note to her voice. "I feel like we're intruding on your family's Christmas."

She's about to respond when heavy footfalls pound down the stairs. "Ah," Clint groans loudly as he bounds into the room. "Not this shit again." He plops down unceremoniously onto the couch next to Bucky and shoots them both a _that's final_ glare as he says, "You _are_ family."

"It is really nice of you," Bucky offers, glancing between Clint and Laura. "I'm sure it's not easy, changing your holiday plans."

She waves a dismissive hand. "We're not _changing_ anything," she argues. "Just setting two more plates at the table."

"Besides," Clint says with a sigh, "eventually you two will get your own place outside of the compound, and when you do, you can have the whole Barton clan over for Christmas."

"So Nathaniel can break all my ponies?" Tessa asks with a shake of her head. "No thank you."

"You think you will?" Laura asks, a contemplative look on her face as she sips from her mug. "Get your own place, I mean."

Bucky tightens his hand a bit around Tessa's thigh as he looks to her for the answer. She simply shrugs – "Maybe" – and gazes down at the remnants of her cocoa.

"Kind of a lot going on right now," he admits with a small, sad smile.

"Yeah," Clint intones. "But you'll make it through." He offers the couple a wink and turns to his wife. "Tell them why you married me," he says with a giant, goofy grin.

She rolls her eyes. "I honestly can't recall."

He snorts out a _psh_ – "Liar" – and turns back to the couple at his right. "She couldn't live without me. Said so herself."

"I live without you about half the time now," she says with a raised brow.

"You couldn't live without me," he returns, voice low as he snakes off the couch and over to her chair. "You had every reason to run for the hills. But you just couldn't quit me." He nuzzles his nose into her cheek and her face splits with a giant smile as a joyful laugh spills from her lips. He slips into the seat next to her, squishing close. "A successful relationship takes a lot of things," he says, quirking his head back towards Bucky and Tessa. "But the most important thing… is love."

Laura looks at him with an almost mocking grin. "Have you been watching Hallmark movies again?"

He nods. "They make me feel all warm inside."

She lets out a small chuckle and looks over to the couple on the couch. "He is right, though," she tells them. "It might not be easy. But if you want to be together, you'll find a way."

"Life finds a way!" Clint shrieks in her ear, causing her to grimace painfully.

"Aha!" Tessa springs upright, almost jumping from the couch. "See?" she says turning wildly to a suddenly startled Bucky. "If you'd bothered to watch Jurassic Park like I told you to, you would've gotten that!"

He gives her a confused frown. "The movie about the dinosaurs? Did the dinosaurs fall in love?"

"What?" She shakes her head in confusion… then exasperation. "No. That's not…"

"Is that a Hallmark movie? What _is_ a Hallmark movie?" The corner of his mouth quirks up just enough to tell her that he's messing with her, and she gives such a dramatic eye roll that it actually, physically hurts.

"They're great, man," Clint says, his words dripping with sincerity. "Really. You'll love them. Sentimental slop. Nothing better. Especially this time of year."

"Ugh," Tessa groans loudly as she shifts just the slightest bit closer to the man beside her. "He's romantic enough without Hallmark. I can't keep up as is."

Bucky wraps his arm around her shoulders so she can settle deeper into his side, and he quirks his head to look down at her. "Really?" he asks with a small, almost sheepish grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "You think so?"

She looks him dead in the eye, one brow arched. "Tell me you didn't put an emerald in the center of that ring because it reminded you of my _eyes_." He says nothing, a wide, pure smile blossoming across his newly blushing face. She winks at him and he clamps his lips tightly together, shaking his head slightly before dropping his forehead to hers.

"Hang on… hold up," Clint says, tossing Laura's legs off his lap as he leans forward. "What ring?"

"Oops," Bucky hums into the small space between them. Tessa leans back and sees that his face is awash with amusement.

"I may have stumbled across a ring," she says casually, curling into his side.

"Really?" Laura asks, genuine interest perking her voice.

"Let me get this straight." Clint stares Bucky down, an unreadable expression on his face. "You bought her a ring… an engagement ring? And you just… left it sitting out where she could find it?"

"No," he explains. "I hid it somewhere she would never look."

"Never?" Tessa squeaks as she pulls away from him. "It was in your sock drawer!"

"Yeah." He swivels around to face her. "And for as long as I've known you, you have _never_, not _once_ put away laundry."

Her mouth falls agape. "That is _not _true!"

"That is absolutely true," he tells her with a firm nod. "You just piled it all up on that chair in the corner of the bedroom."

"I…" she begins. "I…" Her eyes widen. "I _may_ have done that… on occasion."

He turns back to Clint. "The only reason she went in there was because I was laid up and couldn't do the laundry myself."

"That's not true," she repeats, this time sounding genuinely hurt. He looks back to her, takes note of the sudden somberness to her eyes. "I wanted to do something nice. I wanted to take care of you," she says, voice low and just for him.

He unfurls his arm from around her and brings his hand to her face, cups her cheek gently. "I know, baby."

"When you were laid up?" Clint inquires. "When you got shot?" His eyebrows knit together. "That wasn't that long ago," he says, almost more to himself.

"No," Bucky says, a hint of surprise to his voice. He turns back to Clint. "I guess it really wasn't." So much had happened since then, it almost seemed like a lifetime ago. But it really had been only a few months ago – less than, actually – that they'd put those particular future plans on hold.

Laura finishes off the vodka in her mug and slides it onto the coffee table. "For the record," she starts, "all it takes to get your significant other to do laundry is to get shot?"

"Don't even think about it," Clint snipes at her.

"Twice in the chest," Bucky says. "I wouldn't recommend it."

The amusement slowly fades from Laura's face as she glances over at Tessa and sees the still-fresh pain and fear in her eyes. "I'm sorry."

Bucky waves his metal hand dismissively. "Don't be. I made it through fine," he tells her as he reaches over and gives Tessa's leg a quick, reassuring squeeze.

"So…" Clint's brows knit together again, confusion taking over his face. "You _are_ or _are not_ engaged?"

"No," Bucky issues out quickly, before Tessa gets the chance to speak. "We're not engaged." He turns back to the woman at his right, slowly sweeping his thumb back and forth over her knee as he gazes into her eyes. "Not yet."


	3. I Need You

The next morning is a bit of a blur for Tessa.

As promised, Clint and Bucky take Cooper out hunting, leaving just before dawn. Tessa refuses to rise when the alarm goes off, barely even stirring as Bucky tells her goodbye. But she's wrenched from sleep not even an hour later when Nathaniel begins shrieking with delight as he tears around the lower level. Apparently, small children have the same internal alarm clock as roosters.

She lies in bed, wide awake for another twenty minutes or so, contemplating how best to extricate herself from the sheets – and shower and change – without increasing the dull throb in her leg. She's about to finally make a move, when the bedroom swings open and Lila saunters in like she owns the place.

"Are you getting up?" she asks curiously as she sidles up next to the bed.

Tessa lets out a long sigh and gives the girl a serious look. She glances at the clock – 7:15 – and lets out a pained groan as she rolls onto her side. She motions Lila closer and leans over to whisper, "See those little bottles on the bureau?" She points across the room at the pill bottles that Bucky had, for some reason, left just out of her reach.

Lila's gaze follows her finger. "Yeah."

"Will you get them for me?"

She shrugs vaguely and goes over to the bureau to gather the bottles. "What are they?" she asks, depositing them on the bed.

Tessa sits up a bit and takes hold of one of the bottles, squints painfully as she tries to read the label. "That is a good question." She glances up at the girl, who continues to loom in front of her. "You can read, right?"

Another noncommittal shrug. "Yeah."

She holds one of the bottles up. "Does this say Percocet?" Lila looks at the label and her eyes go wide as she tries to make sense of the long string of letters printed on it. _Okay_, Tessa thinks. _Probably not._ She holds up another one. "How 'bout this? Does it start with a P at least?" She nods her head and Tessa breathes out a sigh of relief. "Good," she says, popping the bottle open and tossing a pill in her mouth. She swallows it dry. "Thanks."

"Is it a vitamin?" Lila asks, trying to peer into the bottle. "It doesn't look like it." She rolls back onto her heels. "Mine are gummies. They're pretty good."

"Yeah? That sounds good." She shifts in the bed, rolling onto her back and letting her eyes drift shut for a brief moment as she waits for the pain meds to start working. Then, suddenly remembering that the person by her side is a 7-year-old kid, she cracks one eye open and almost glares at Lila. "These are gross. And they'd be really bad for you." Lila gives her a small nod. "Seriously." She pivots back onto her right side and stares the girl down. "Do not _ever_ take these."

She lets out an irritated huff. "Fine," she says, beginning to tap her foot impatiently. "Are you getting up or what? Mom said we can't start making gingerbread for the houses until breakfast is over, and it can't be over until you've ate it, so you need to _get up_."

"God, you're worse than James," she complains, pulling the pillow out from under her head and tossing it at the girl.

"Hey!" She moves quickly to avoid the pillow before hopping back a few times and reaching up for the light switch by the door. "Get up," she demands, flipping on the lights.

Tessa buries her face in the crook of her arm and moans pathetically. "Go find me some clothes," she mumbles, blindly pointing at the open suitcase in the corner of the room.

Lila does as she says, digging out some baggy fleece pants and a Stark Industries T-shirt. "Here," she says, dumping the items atop Tessa's head. "Now hurry up."

It takes another few minutes for the Percocet to really kick in, but once it does she begins moving as quickly as her body will allow her. She hobbles into the bathroom to change, choosing to forgo the shower lest a tiny tyrant gets even more impatient and comes to berate her in there. Besides, as much as she hates to admit it – because it makes her almost physically ill to think about what a burden she is on Bucky right now – showers are almost impossible on her own.

She sighs deeply and prepares herself to get to work in front of the sink. She's gotten better about maneuvering with the crutches and finding ways to balance herself so that she can get shit done. A few weeks ago, for example, she was brushing her teeth while sitting on the toilet because she couldn't quite keep herself upright on her own. Now – it might be slow going and at times painful – but she can at least stand in front of the sink while washing up, brushing her teeth, and putting in her contacts. She can get to and from the toilet on her own. She can even get dressed by herself, though it's sometimes awkward as hell.

She splashes some water on her face and, with her hip leaning heavily on the counter, she sets the crutches aside so she can pull off the shirt she'd slept in. After putting on her bra, she glances at herself for a moment in the mirror. She runs a delicate finger along the still-red incision line at her side. Just after they removed her kidney, she blew up like a balloon, retaining so much water that she looked like a swollen fun-house version of herself. Now that her electrolytes were all balanced and the fluid retention had abated, it was plainly obvious that she'd actually lost a ton of weight.

"Probably not just since the accident," she mumbles to herself, tracing the outline of each rib with her eyes. It had been months since she'd had a normal appetite… just one more thing that got fucked up when the psychic block put in place all those years ago began to crumble. Just one more thing…

She snorts out a thick, bitter laugh and harshly pulls the T-shirt on over head before straightening herself up and hobbling down to breakfast.

000

"Mom," Lila whines yet again. "It won't stay together."

Tessa delicately holds the gingerbread walls in place, being careful not to press too hard as she joins them. "We can do this," she says, almost to herself. "I'm a scientist for God's sake." She smiles wide as her fingers move slowly away from the newly constructed house, all 4 walls remaining stationary… for about 5 seconds. Then the cookies all collapse in on each other once again. "Damn it!" she ekes out, face contorting into an angry frown. "Sorry," she quickly utters, noting Lila's disapproving look.

Laura sweeps in, grabbing a tube of icing away from Nate before he's able to break into it. "They've heard worse."

_Probably true_, Tessa thinks to herself. _They do live with Clint._ She tries once more to delicately piece the walls together, noticing a small crack already blossoming on the edge of one. She lets out a pained sigh when they all tumble down yet again. If this gingerbread house construction keeps up the way it's been going, these kids are going to be exposed to a whole new world of colorful expletives.

"Moooooom," Lila begins again.

She turns to her daughter and gives her a stern warning look, only relaxing her face once the girl huffs out a barely audible apology. "I'll get the glue gun," she says then, before turning to Tessa. "You okay with them for a few?"

She shrugs. "Sure."

Nathaniel slips from his seat and steps over to her, raising his hands as he pleads, "Up, up, up."

"Oh," Laura starts, "Nate, honey, no. You can't get on Tessa's lap. She's hurt, remember?"

"Up!" he screams at an ungodly decibel, staring Tessa directly in the face.

She leans down and hoists him up, places him on her right thigh. "It's okay," she says. "Just don't crawl down the other leg, yeah?"

He nods emphatically. "Yeah."

"Okay, if you're sure." Laura turns hesitantly for the kitchen door. "I'm just going down to the basement for a minute. Don't drive Tessa away before I get back."

Lila moves to the table and looms over the felled walls of the gingerbread house. "She can't go anywhere," she states, staring angrily down at the cookies. "Her leg's broken. Duh."

"Duh," Tessa repeats, mocking quality to her voice. She lays the walls all out onto the table, her posture shifting upright as a brilliant idea occurs to her. "Okay," she says, clapping her hands together enthusiastically. "I say we decorate these first, _then_ glue them all together."

"Can you do that?" Lila asks, wrinkling her nose. "I don't think you're supposed to do that."

She shrugs. "It's our house. We can do what we want. Right, Nate?"

"Yeah!" he shouts with a laugh as she bounces him on her knee.

Lila gives her a suspicious look, raising a single, serious eyebrow. "Do you know what you're doing?"

She looks over at the girl and holds her hands out in front of her. "Do these look like the hands of someone who works in construction?"

"I don't know," she says with a shrug.

Tessa frowns down at her upturned palms and sighs. "Guess I moisturize for nothing," she says to herself before, "No. These are not construction worker hands. I don't build things. So… no. I have no idea what I'm doing." Lila raises her brows at her. "Now… what color should we make the walls?"

The doubting expression falls quickly from her face and she lights up as she shouts, "Pink!"

"Pink walls... I'm in. Go get a bowl so we can mix up some pink icing. Nate," she starts, giving the kid another bounce. "What color should the door be?"

"Geen!"

"Geen," she repeats. "Got it. Geen door."

Lila comes back over with two small bowls and a box of food coloring. "He means _green_," she says in her most know-it-all tone.

"Green," Tessa mutters. "Well, that changes the whole color palette then, doesn't it?"

"Yewow!" he shouts next, drumming his hands on the table.

"That's _yellow_."

"Yeah," Tessa mutters as she breaks open the box of colors. "I got that one."

"How are we going to put it together if we do this first?" the little girl asks as she squeezes white icing into a bowl. "Won't it ruin it?"

Tessa frowns a bit as she thinks on that. "We'll just have to wait 'til the icing's dry. As long as we're careful, I think it'll work."

Lila sets down the icing and gazes at the bare gingerbread pieces before them with a thoughtful expression. "What is that you do again?" she asks Tessa slowly, turning a pensive stare on her.

"I'm a doctor," she says simply, working to stifle a laugh at the girl's far too mature demeanor. She clears her throat. "And you? What's your profession?"

Lila rolls her eyes, her expression a tiny mirror of her father. "I'm seven," she says with absolute sincerity. "I don't have a _profession_."

Tessa leans over the top of Nate and stops her face an inch from Lila's. Their noses almost touching, eyes locked, she says, "I run an entire _division_ of Stark Industries."

Lila pulls back a bit and gives her a challenging look. "I don't know what that means."

Without breaking eye contact nor changing her expression, Tessa says, "It means I'm capable of building a gingerbread house."

Lila lets out a small huff and climbs up into the chair next to her. "If you say so," she singsongs as she reaches for the red food coloring.

By the time Laura finally digs out the hot glue gun and makes it back upstairs, one wall of the house is already iced in a bright gaudy pink and Lila, now positioned on Tessa's right leg, is cautiously squeezing more icing onto a second wall. "Don't forget the corners," Tessa instructs lightly as she nudges the piping bag over just a hair.

"That looks… pretty," Laura offers as she rounds the table. She looks down and sees Nathaniel perched atop Tessa's left thigh, his fingers painting designs along her forearm in bright green icing. With a deep frown, she lifts the toddler off of her lap and sets him in the booster seat at the corner of the table. She tosses a piece of extra gingerbread his way to keep him happy.

"He was fine," Tessa says, only to be met with a disapproving stare from Laura. "Really," she goes on. "At this point, the leg's mostly metal. I'm not saying it doesn't ache, but he's not gonna be able to do any real damage."

"Don't challenge him."

"Mom," Lila says, without looking up. "You should trust Tessa more. She runs a whole… thingy for work."

"Division," she supplies, swiping at some icing spillover with her finger and quickly licking it up.

"Division." The girl squeezes one more line of pink out and drops the piping bag onto the table. "There," she states, a triumphant look on her face. "Perfect."

"Perfect," Tessa repeats, picking up the bag to refill it for the next wall.

Just then, the back door swings open, Clint, Bucky and Cooper all filing in from the cold. "Success!" Clint shouts, holding up two dead ducks.

Tessa glances up and quickly wraps her hand around Lila's face to shield her eyes.

Laura lets out a small shriek. "Oh God! No!" She throws her hands up in front of her face to block the image. "You know the rules. No food comes into this house unless it's unrecognizable as an animal." Clint advances on her, wide, amused smile on his face as he thrusts the ducks toward her. "No!" she screams, backing into the kitchen counter. Then, "Out!" as she thrusts an adamant finger in the direction of the door.

He steps back and hands the birds over to his son. "You kill them, you clean them," he says with a sudden serious authority.

Laura drops her hands and looks over at Cooper. "You did that?" He nods excitedly. "Well…" she breathes out, giving him a pained, albeit proud, smile. "Good job."

"He did great," Bucky says, patting the kid on the shoulder.

"Yeah, well," Clint starts, leaning over and grabbing a chunk of gingerbread off the counter. He shoves it into his mouth before continuing, chewing around the words, "probably helped that he had a trained sharpshooter coaching him. And also, you know… genetics," he finishes with a grin.

Laura smacks his hand away from the remaining gingerbread. "Go wash up," she says. "That's disgusting."

"Daddy, look!" Lila shouts over at him as she squirms out of Tessa's hold. She points down at the two bright pink walls before her.

Clint cocks his head and widens his eyes as he takes in the almost blinding colors. "Wow, that's… really something." He looks up at Bucky and nods down at the mess on the table. "What do you think, Sarge? It's something, huh?"

"It's really nice, Lila," he says, quite diplomatically. He glances up and sees that, not only is the little girl positioned on Tessa's lap, but Nathaniel seems to have just scurried up onto her as well. "Hey, buddy," he breathes out, racing over and sweeping the boy up into his arms.

Nate lets out a small squeal of protest and Clint reaches over and gathers him up. "What are you up to, huh?" he asks his son. "You climbing on our guest like she's a jungle gym?" He gives him a quick tickle, eliciting a high-pitched peal of laughter.

"Oh, Nate," Laura bemoans, wiping off her hands and looking over to Bucky who's now plastered at Tessa's side. "I'm sorry. I told him no."

Tessa just shrugs – "I told him it was fine" – and reaches around Lila to start filling a new piping bag with green icing.

"Aren't you supposed to build the house _before_ you decorate it?" Clint asks, as he dangles Nathaniel upside down behind them.

"_Dad_," Lila starts. "We know what we're doing."

Bucky drops a heavy palm onto Tessa's shoulder and leans down to whisper in her ear. "You need another pain pill?" She shakes her head. He raises a single assessing brow at her, knowing full well her penchant for struggling through pain rather than asking for help. "You sure?"

"Why are you always trying to medicate me?"

He lets out a small sigh as he straightens upright. "You're easier to handle when you're sedated."

She rolls her eyes, brushing his hand from her shoulder. "I'm fine. Go shower off the kill."

"Wasn't my kill," he says simply. He reaches down to grab a gingerbread remnant off the table and pops it into his mouth, hands another piece off to Clint. "You," he says, pointing at the giggling, upside down toddler, "don't break my girl."

"Who's your girl?" Lila asks.

Tessa hands her the newly filled icing bag. "I am."

"Aren't you a woman?" she asks incredulously.

"You do raise an excellent point," she mutters, craning her head to look back at Bucky. He gives her a sly wink in response, eliciting yet another eye roll. Her gaze travels over to Nate, then up to Clint. "He was supposed to be helping us," she tells him, indicating the dangling boy.

He wrinkles his brow. "Seriously? We still count his age by the month. He can't _help_ with anything." He flips the boy right side up and settles him on his hip for a moment. "But if you want him…"

Bucky spins back around in the doorway to face Tessa. "Keep him off that leg," he says, tone stern. She waves a dismissive hand through the air. His voice is a bit harsh when he asks, with a single eyebrow cocked, "You want _another_ surgery?"

She sighs dramatically and falls back into her chair. "You're _smothering_ me," she seethes, _mostly_ mockingly.

He steps forward, leaning down and looming over her upturned face. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe," he whispers to her, crooked smile taking over. "Even if that means fighting off dangerous toddlers."

"My hero," she intones with a scoff before he lays a gingerbread-laden kiss on her.

"Gross," they hear, not from one of the kids, but from Clint as he continues to bounce Nate behind them. "Get a room," he drones as they slowly break apart.

000

It's almost two hours before everyone – and everything – is clean. Luckily Clint had put in a new hot water heater with a huge capacity just last spring. Because almost immediately after the boys are done showering, the rest of the household is in dire need of getting cleaned up as well.

The gingerbread house managed to stay together, a miracle in itself. But while Tessa and Lila were busy gluing and delicately holding the walls in place, Nathaniel decided to scurry up onto the table and pull a _Hulk smash_ with all of the piping bags, none of which had been completely expressed of their brightly colored icing. Only Laura escaped being painted, having been far enough away in the corner of the kitchen.

"I got this," she tells Tessa as both women attempt to mop up the mess on the table. And the chairs. And the floor. And, somehow, the wall of the kitchen.

She pulls the screaming toddler from Tessa's grasp – which he had quickly fled into, clinging to her neck for dear life once his sister flew into a tirade directed at him – and thrusts him into Clint's arms when hightails it into the kitchen. "What the hell happened here?" he asks, accepting Nate while his wide eyes continue to travel across the room.

"He ruined it!" Lila shouts. It's the same scream that had caused him to hurry down the stairs just a moment ago, internally rolling his eyes at the fiasco he was sure to find. "He ruins everything!"

"Go give him a bath," Laura orders before twisting quickly around towards the mess at the table. She sees that Tessa is no longer in her chair and her eyes sweep the room quickly before settling on the form burrowing beneath the table. "Stop! No! What are you doing?" she shouts suddenly.

Tessa looks up at the woman from her spot on the floor, wide innocent eyes that rival those of the children. "I'm… picking up," she states simply, shifting her position under the table to show off the broken pieces of gingerbread she'd gathered.

Clint laughs. Lila cries. Laura lets out a long, exasperated sigh and extends her hand. "Can you even get up from there?"

Tessa scoots out a ways, reaching above her to deposit the busted cookies onto the table. She shrugs. "Probably."

"Lila," Clint croons, bouncing Nate on his hip to try and calm him down. "The house looks fine." He moves closer to the table, squinting down at the still-standing gingerbread creation. "It looks like he only broke the extra pieces."

"No!" she squeals. "Look!" She points to one corner of the house, which now has a long stream of flung green icing trailing down it.

Tessa grunts as she pulls herself back up into her chair, Laura tugging her along to help. Then she reaches out and gently lifts the green icing ribbon from the house. It comes off in one easy swipe. "There," she says, popping her finger into her mouth. "All fixed."

Lila's face freezes, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as she takes in the house once again. "Okay," she says then, wiping her eyes and nose with her forearm. She holds her brightly colored hands out in front of her. "I need to wash my hands."

Clint reaches out and takes hold of a chunk of her light hair. "I think you need to wash more than just your hands," he sniggers, pulling out soft chunks of icing. "You too, Doc," he says, glancing over at Tessa and cocking his head to point out to her, the bright colors that have collected, not just in her hair, but along her neck and the side of her face as well.

"Yes," Laura says, voice filled with authority. She reaches around and hands Tessa her crutches. "You go shower and change." Then she turns to her family. "You put them in a bath," she tells Clint.

"Not together!" Lila protests.

"No," Clint agrees, scrunching his face up in mock disgust. "Ew. That'd be horrible," as he takes hold of the girl's shoulder and leads her from the room.

Tessa leans the crutches on the table and looks up at Laura. "I can help clean up. Really."

She raises a brow at her. "If James had seen you crawling around that floor, he would've yanked you out of this house and never let you come back."

She lets out a loud scoff. "He needs to calm the fuck down. I'm fine." She continues to sweep bits of crushed cookies and dried icing into her hands, dumping them into the trashcan Laura deposits at her side.

"Why are you so resistant to being taken care of, anyway?" she asks her with a smirk. "What happened to _ruin_ you?"

Tessa rolls her eyes. "That's a loaded question."

Laura lets out a small chuckle as she flops down into the chair next to her. "I think it's sweet… the way he takes care of you." She leans back and stretches out her neck. "Maybe a little over the top… sometimes. But really, I think that _you_ think it's too much because you're too independent for your own good. And stubborn. Did I mention stubborn?"

She shakes her head, crooked smile on her lips. "You think you know me…"

"No, actually, I don't. I know that I don't know you very well," she says with a sigh.

Tessa's voice is small and low when she says, "You know me about as well as the rest of my friends."

"See that?" Laura says, pointing an almost accusing finger in her face. "I know I don't _know_ you. But I recognize you. _That_ is the same kind of attitude I had to contend with in the beginning of our marriage."

Tessa frowns, brow wrinkling in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Clint's always been… independent. But there's a difference between being independent and completely shut off. The fact that he wouldn't admit that, or accept it… that almost ended us. A few times, actually. I called off our first wedding when I found out that he had a brother he _never_ told me about."

"He has a brother?" Tessa asks, interest piqued.

Laura just shakes her head. "I never told you that," she says in a conspiratorial tone. "The point is that, he came very close to losing me… and all of this… because he couldn't just let go and trust me. He would _say _that he trusted me. And I knew that he loved me. But for the longest time, he just wouldn't let me in." She reaches out and lays her hand atop Tessa's, looks her in the eyes when she says, "I'm about to lay some really sage advice on you right now, okay? And it might not apply to you… I don't know. Maybe I'm putting too much of my own crap into this. But if you want to keep what looks like a pretty promising relationship, then you need to let go and trust that man."

Tess shakes her head sadly. "It's not that simple," she mutters. "Right now…" She lets out a long sigh and looks over to the woman at her right. "I don't know how much Clint told you… about what's going on… with me. But…" She shrugs absently. "I _do_ trust him. But I don't feel like I can let him completely in right now. How can I do that when I don't even know what's… what's in here?" she asks, tapping a finger at her temple.

Laura gives her hand a quick pat. "Letting him in doesn't mean telling him every thing that enters your mind any more than trusting him to take care of you means giving away your free will. Just tell him how you feel. Tell him what you want, what you need. Tell him what you just told me. Maybe he'd back off a bit on the guard duty if he knew what you _really_ needed from him."

Tessa's lips quirk up at one corner in a small, shrewd grin. She removes her hand from Laura's and swipes at her face, aiming to scratch an itch but coming away with flakes of dried icing. "Well," she says, pulling herself up onto her crutches. "I should probably go shower."

"Yeah," Laura breathes out, watching her hobble away. "Probably so."

000

When she enters the guestroom, Bucky's very clearly _just _gotten out of the shower himself, steam still billowing out of the ensuite. He pulls a T-shirt over his head as he pivots towards her. "What are you doing?" he asks, moving across the room in two short strides. "Did you take the stairs on your own?"

"I have crutches," she says, handing them over to him as she takes one more step and collapses onto the bed. "I'm not completely inept."

"No," he says, looking down at her with a smirk. "But you do seem pretty out of breath." He sits on the edge of the bed beside her hip, drops his hand down onto her thigh. "Harder than you thought it'd be?"

She looks up at him solemnly. "I'm ready to be better," she says with a pout.

He cocks his head at her curiously and brings his hand up to her face. "What…" He runs his thumb gingerly along her jawline before scraping with his nail at the hardened stripe of green on her skin. "What happened?" he asks with a wide smile and a hearty laugh. She doesn't move, doesn't say anything either. She simply continues to look up at him, gazing at his face as he searches through her hair for more dried icing. "See this?" he says, pulling out a thimble-sized chunk of pink and holding it before her. "_This_ is why you shouldn't be allowed in a kitchen."

"Hey," she complains, taking hold of his wrist. "It wasn't my fault."

He chuckles again, and makes a move to sit upright, but she refuses to release him, instead guiding his hand down to her breast. He settles back into the mattress, his eyes flicking back and forth between her face and his hand. His palm naturally, instinctively, cups her breast, his thumb gently stroking over the top of her nipple. She arches a bit, leaning into the touch. The smile drops from his face, his countenance quickly changing into a troubled frown.

"Hey," she says, barely a breath, as she reaches up for him. "What's wrong?"

He shakes his head distractedly, saying nothing.

Her fingers trace along his temple, tucking his wet hair back behind his ear. "I'm not gonna break," she says with a small smile, ducking her head to capture his gaze.

"You're already broken," he says with an almost despondent sigh.

She props herself up on her elbows, angling into him as he leans further down. Their faces bob inches apart for a brief moment before he moves in, capturing her lips with his own. It's a fast, fevered, desperate kiss that leaves them both breathless when he finally does pull away. "It's okay," she tells him, her voice barely a whisper. Her fingers are firmly entrenched in his hair, and she refuses to loosen her grip as she lays back down, pulling him with her.

He climbs onto the bed, carefully maneuvering his right leg over the top of her and gently setting it beside her left hip. He hovers over the top of her, a deep reluctance in his otherwise hungry eyes as he seems to debate whether or not to press his body into hers.

"It's okay," she says again, wrapping her left arm around his lower back and tugging him to her.

He holds himself up on his elbows, his face looming just above hers. "I don't want to hurt you," he says, a sincere fear burning though his words.

She bites the corner of her lip, working to suppress a smile. "Then be gentle," she tells him.

His right hand is on her face now, petting away the sticky, icing-clad hair. He grins wide despite himself. "You'll tell me if it hurts?" he asks.

She wiggles a bit beneath him. "Ooo," she intones, a mocking quality to her voice. "It's just like my first time."

He shakes his head and lets out a small chuckle before connecting with her gaze once more. He raises a very serious eyebrow and states this time instead of asks, "You'll tell me if _anything_ hurts."

"Yes, sir," she agrees, voice thick with desire.

Still he hesitates, only barely lowering himself down onto her, carefully avoiding any pressure on her leg, holding himself up above her core, above the empty spot inside where her kidney used to be. His hand slides up under her shirt, thumb finding the raised line of the surgical scar and tracing it so lightly that she pulls back and laughs at the tickling sensation. He swallows hard and looks her in the eye, silently asking for permission, for guidance.

Her fingers tighten in his hair as she says simply, "I need you."


	4. You Don't Quit

The dreams remained, of course. As her subconscious worked to make sense of all that had happened over the last few weeks, as it tried to guide her towards a decision… towards some sort of resolution… towards a sense of acceptance, those nebulous visions of times past and memories forgotten stayed with her.

But the nightmares had all but disappeared. It was part of the reason she'd agreed to go to Clint's in the first place. Had she still been waking screaming in the middle of the night, had she still been wandering unmoored through her days, she never would have gone to stay with a family… with small children. Especially not over the holidays. One reason was fear – could she trust herself to be around them? Could she keep from losing control of herself, of her powers? She'd never forgive herself if she hurt Laura or one of the kids like she did Natasha that night at the hospital. But another reason was simply pride. What kind of a freak would they think her to be if she woke every night in a fit and wandered aimlessly through an exhausted haze during the day?

Luckily, whatever the Professor had done had eased her mind at least enough to keep the nightmares at bay over the past few weeks.

And yet, on just their second night at the Barton's, she hears Bucky's familiar plea cutting through the din – "Wake up, baby. Wake up."

Her eyes shoot open, and with them, her lips. They part just enough to let loose a wild scream, one that reverberates through her chest and echoes in her ears. Through the blur of tears, she sees his face pinch and startle, pulling back slightly as it hovers above her. The scream fades to a rasp, then an exhausted breath. Then, "I'm sorry," barely a whisper. "I'm sorry," choked out amid a toe-curling sob.

He holds her close and tells her it's okay, wraps his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. The entire dance is a well-rehearsed one. Even the dialogue remains the same. "It's alright," he whispers into her sweaty hair. "I got you."

She nods against him, the cries gradually fading as she continues to hiccup, "Sorry. I'm sorry," into his shoulder. He shushes her gently, letting his metal fingers graze along her back, cooling her hot skin. "I'm sorry," she repeats, grasping at his shirt and holding on for dear life.

000

"I don't want to go," she pouts, laying – fully clothed – on the bed the next morning. Bucky cocks a questioning brow at her and she sighs deeply, rolling onto her side and burying her face into the pillow. "It's so humiliating," she moans into it.

He reaches over and plucks the pillow from her grasp, tosses it across the bed, and holds out his hand. "I'm not bringing you breakfast in bed," he tells her, giving a little wiggle of his fingers to encourage her to get up. She gives him a pitiful stare, made even more pathetic by the dark circles under her eyes and the wild hair in her face. "Come on," he says, expression steadfast. "We're going downstairs."

"But I don't want to." She curls up tighter, as much as she can with the broken left leg still flopped uselessly on the bed.

"Tessa," he sighs out. "Nobody's gonna say anything. You had a nightmare. That's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"I probably woke the baby," she protests. "I probably woke everyone up and they never got back to sleep and it's Christmas Eve eve and now they're all exhausted and the kids are crabby and it's all my fault."

A small, crooked smile perks at his lips. "I didn't hear anyone get up. And I have super hearing." She shoots him a dirty look. "I'm pretty sure you're the one who's crabby."

"I'm not hungry," she snipes, flipping her head around to bury her face in the blankets in lieu of a pillow.

He takes hold of her arm and hauls her into a seated position on the bed. "You can hobble down the stairs with me, or I can throw you over my shoulder and carry you. But you're going downstairs. We're guests here, and if my ma taught me one thing it was to always be a well-mannered guest." She frowns miserably at him and he raises his brows as he levels her with a serious stare. "Get your ass up."

She chooses to hobble instead of being carried, though halfway down the stairs her exhausted body begins to think that it might not be so bad to be deposited at the breakfast table like a sack of potatoes. At least then her arms wouldn't ache with the effort of crutches and her leg wouldn't suffer the shooting pain that always seems to creep in on the stairs. She refuses Bucky's help, though, limping slowly and effortfully with the crutches rather than leaning on him for support. It's silly, she knows. He's not the one suffering from her refusal, but somehow it makes her feel like she's sticking it to him. _You're just cutting off your nose to spite your face_, that's what Grandpa Steve would say.

"Good morning," Laura greets from the stove as they enter the kitchen.

Clint's at the table, a cup of coffee in one hand, errant pieces of Nathaniel's breakfast in the other. He tosses the felled egg and bits of pancake onto the boy's plate, only to have him sweep them back off again with a wild laugh. Clint acts as though he's unaware of the game, but there's a glint in his eye that shows otherwise. "You look like you need coffee," he says to Tessa as she flops into the chair across from him.

"You are just in time for the last batch of pancakes," Laura says with a smile. "And they're the best." She winks over at Tessa before flipping off the stove. "We always give the kids the practice ones."

Bucky pours two cups of coffee, adding the needed sugar into one mug. "They already ate?" he asks, glancing over his shoulder to find that Cooper and Lila are nowhere to be seen.

"Out in the snow," Clint supplies. "I told them they're not allowed back in until I see an army of snowmen or one of them gets frostbite. Not sure which will happen first."

"Considering how well they cooperate, I'm guessing they'll both get hypothermia long before even the first snowman is built," Laura says as she sets a platter of pancakes on the table and takes a seat next to Clint.

Bucky sets down the sugar coffee in front of Tessa and takes a sip of his own before gently lifting her leg from the chair to her right and sitting in it, repositioning her leg on his lap once he's settled. "Maybe I'll help them out," he offers thoughtfully. "Can't remember the last time I built a snowman."

Clint gives up the game with Nate – "Eat it," he tells the boy finally, no-nonsense tone to his voice – and gazes across the table at Tessa for a long moment. She doesn't seem to notice, too caught up in staring at the coffee in her hands. "Sleep well?" he asks finally, knowing smirk on his face. Laura smacks him – hard – under the table. "Ow! What?" he asks, turning to his wife. "It's a common morning-time question."

Tessa clears her throat and looks up over the lip of her mug at the couple in front of her. "I'm sorry," she says a bit sheepishly.

"For what?" Laura asks, pouring syrup over her mound of pancakes.

"For waking everyone," she replies. "Last night." She shakes her head solemnly, setting her coffee down on the table. "I haven't done that in a while. I didn't think… I wouldn't have come here if I thought…"

Clint scoffs loudly. "Please." He gets up and lifts Nathaniel from his booster seat, freeing him to run off and find some toys. "You wouldn't have come here if you thought you might have a nightmare? Seems a little dramatic."

"I just…" she starts, not quite sure where to go.

"Are you alright?" Laura asks softly, her hands stilling as she begins to cut her pancakes. "You look exhausted."

Tessa shrugs. "I'm just sorry I woke you. And the kids."

Clint returns to the table with another mug full of coffee. "Nah, those kids won't wake up for anything. Until Christmas morning," he says, plopping down into his chair. "Then they'll be awake, that's for damn sure."

"Still," Tessa says, ducking her gaze. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Laura offers. Then, with a full mouth, she pushes the platter of pancakes closer to her and Bucky and orders, "Eat."

They do. Though most of Tessa's breakfast ends up mashed up around her plate as she absently shoves the syrup-drenched morsels around with her fork. Once breakfast is essentially over, Bucky makes good on his promise to go out and help with the snowmen, and Laura scoops up the sticky baby and takes him upstairs for a bath.

Clint remains seated at the table across from Tessa, unmoving. He stares over at her, frowning at the way she continues to swirl the dregs of coffee in her mug, seemingly lost in watching the liquid move. He rises with a huff and spins towards the kitchen counter, grabbing the carafe. "You want more?" he offers suddenly, holding out the pot after pouring himself some.

"Sure," she says with a shrug, startled countenance fading as she holds out her mug.

He plops the sugar bowl onto the table in front of her and sits back down. "So," he begins, watching her slowly stir a spoonful into the steaming liquid. She looks up at him, a questioning glance. "Is that how it usually goes down?"

Her brow furrows, lips pull into a confused frown. "What? Coffee?"

"Nightmares," he corrects quickly. He gives her a stern look, a thing she rarely receives from Clint. "You wake up screaming? Can't fall back asleep?" She stares at him from across the table, unmoving, mug stilled halfway to her mouth. "That happen a lot?"

She pulls in a tight breath and takes a drink, sets down her coffee slowly before responding. "It happens," she says with a shrug.

"That's it? That's all you have to say? It happens?"

She rubs at her tired eyes with her fists. "What do you want me to say, Clint?" Her eyes are completely bloodshot when she looks back up at him, so much so that it makes him cringe. "Yeah. It happens."

He nods. "And you're okay with that?"

"I'm kind of getting used to it," she mutters, gaze falling back to the coffee on the table before her.

He huffs out a quick, biting laugh and ends with a sigh. "Well, Doc, that sounds like absolute bullshit to me."

"O-kay," she drawls out, irritation playing on her face as she continues to stare down at her coffee.

Clint's frown deepens as he asks, "What are your nightmares about?" He sees her shoulders stiffen. "This one at least. What was _this_ nightmare about?"

She lets out a long sigh. "I don't really like to talk about them."

He reaches across the table and flops his hand down on top of her mug. "I don't really give a shit," he says, slowly dragging the mug over to him.

She follows the movement for a fraction of second before looking up at him with wide eyes. "What…"

He locks onto her gaze, raises his eyebrows in the _dad means business _way he's managed to perfect over the years, and says to her, "You need to make a choice. Do you want to keep living like this? Getting back bits and pieces of your life in dreams… in nightmares? Having to have someone go inside your head and… clean it out so you can think? So you can make it through the day?" He pauses for a moment and gives her an assessing look. "'Cause you know… you _know_ that if you have your professor friend build another wall – or whatever the hell he does – _you know_ that eventually that one will break down too and this will all just start up again."

She reels back. "You don't know that."

"Tessa," he says, shaking his head methodically, "Your own brain is begging you to remember. _You_ are trying to get your life back. Why won't you just… let it happen?"

She stares at him from across the table, her voice small, almost frightened when she says, "You called me Tessa."

He reclines back in his chair and sips casually at his coffee. "Talk to me," he says, voice low. He sits up and scoots into the table, settling his elbows atop it so he can lean closer to her. "What are you so damn scared of?"

"Are you serious?" she bites out with a sardonic laugh. "What am I scared of?"

He ignores her wide eyes, her shocked expression, and remains completely collected as he says, "Talk it out. Use me as a sounding board."

She huffs out an annoyed breath and rolls her eyes, reaches across the table and steals back her mug. But she doesn't drink from it, choosing instead to thoughtfully stare at the dark liquid inside. "What if I'm not Tessa?" she utters finally, her voice so low, he can barely make it out. "What if I'm…"

He raises his eyebrows, dropping his head just a bit as he watches her. "Go on," he prompts. But she looks to be at an absolute loss, her brow furrowed in thought as her eyes gaze off into the ether. "Doc," he says, bringing her gaze back up to him. He cocks his head curiously. "What was the dream about?"

Tears rise unbidden to her eyes, blurring her vision as she looks over at him. But still, his gaze is steady, void of any judgement, free from any pity. "It was Anna," she says meekly, reaching up to swipe at an errant tear. Then, rolling her eyes, "_Me_, I guess." She shakes her head dismissively. "It was…" She straightens suddenly, her shoulders tightening as she steels herself. "I can _remember_ her. I know… I know she's not real. But… in my head, she is. She's real and she's… my sister."

Clint nods. "And if you get your memories back, get them back the way they should be, you'll lose her." She looks away briefly, unable to meet his eyes as that truth rolls out of him. He sighs. "And if you remember _being_ her… then you might lose yourself too. That's it, right? You're afraid you'll lose Anna… afraid you'll lose _Tessa_…"

"And James," she continues for him before looking up and meeting his eyes. "And you. And everyone who knows me as I am."

He gives her a perplexed look. "You think we're all that easy to get rid of?"

She shrugs, sniffling a bit as she angrily swipes the tears from her face. "You don't know me… who I was."

"Neither do you."

She returns her gaze to his, her eyes suddenly cold and stony. "Here's what I _do _know about _me_ before all of this happened… I drove my brother crazy and left him to die alone. I held such a grudge against Jean that I didn't talk to her for over a year. And then I _killed her_. I couldn't keep control of my powers and I fucking lost it. And in the end I tried to off myself… at home, so my family could find me. Does she sound like someone you'd want to be friends with?"

He cocks a brow at her and offers a small, crooked smile. "_She_ sounds like a kid to me. A stubborn, irritating kid – which none of us doubted you were – who got dealt a shit hand and had trouble dealing."

"And what makes you think I can deal now?"

"C'mon Doc," he says, leaning back in his chair once more. "You forget, I've seen you in a pickle." He gives her a sly wink before the grin falls from his face, slowly morphing in to a more somber expression. "You're cool under pressure. You keep your head, even when the world's falling apart around you. And you're too damn stubborn to ever give up on anything."

She looks away, but he can see the slightest upward tick of her mouth as she fights to stave off a smile. "Sure, if you say so."

"You got us out of an impossible situation in Minsk. You saved my life, pulled a bullet out of me without any tools, without any help."

"Without any morphine," she interrupts, raising a teasing brow.

He nods and blows out a slow, pained breath as the memory flashes behind his eyes. Then he plows on. "You jumped headfirst into the mission with Lobe, even though it was dangerous as hell and – let's be real – you had no business being involved."

She shoots him a dirty glare and he lets loose a small chuckle, throwing his hands up in defeat.

After a beat, he sits uprights and goes on to say, "You wouldn't quit." His gaze drops down to the tabletop, his fingers fidgeting with the handle of his mug. "When I was doing CPR…" He stops and shakes his head sadly. "You were gone, kid. No heartbeat. You were _blue_." He looks back up at her and shares a soft, genuine smile. "But I knew you wouldn't give up, so I didn't either. And you came back. And now?" He reaches across the table and gently grasps her fingers. "These last few months… hell most of this last year… your mind's been getting ripped apart from the inside. And still you don't give up. You don't quit." He drops her hand and rises from the table, turns to deposit his coffee mug into the sink. When he spins back around to face her, he leans a hip into the counter and says, voice strong and decisive "There's not a doubt in my mind that you can deal with whatever your past has to throw at you." He raises a single brow at her and points a firm finger her way. "You just have to have as much faith in yourself as I do."

He crosses the room, dropping a palm onto her shoulder. She reaches up and lays her hand over his, gives his fingers a quick squeeze. "Thanks," she mutters simply, eyes remaining focused on the table before her.

A smile cracks on his face. He can tell, from the softness of her tone and the fact that she's as good as giving him a hug, that the _thanks_ is genuine. "No problem," he replies. Then, pulling from her grasp, he takes a deep breath and says, "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go rope that super soldier of yours into helping me put up the lights before we're buried under snow."

She startles a bit, turning as he leaves to shout after him, "Be careful! I don't think he can heal from a broken neck!"


	5. Max

There's a decent layer of snow already resting on the roof once they climb up, so maneuvering is a bit dicey. But, "We're gonna get a hell of a lot more by tonight," Clint says as he stares up at the silver sky. "So might as well do this now."

Bucky huffs out a grunt as he hauls up the giant tangle of Christmas lights and sets it down between them. "You do this every year?" he asks, his gloved fingers beginning the process of pulling the mess apart. Clint nods before scooting his way further across the roof and checking to make sure the hooks he'd put up along the overhang are still in place. "By yourself?"

He tosses a glance over his shoulder. "I'm the dad," he says in an obvious fashion. "Risking my life to put a fake Santa on the roof is my job." Bucky lets out a short laugh and shakes his head in amusement. "Did you have Christmas lights when you were a kid?" Clint asks, genuinely curious. "You had electricity, right?" he intones with a sly smile on his face.

"Yeah, we had electricity. It wasn't the old west." He shrugs absently, thinking back to his youth as he continues to pull apart the lights. "We a had tree. Sometimes. Not usually lights." He stops what he's doing and looks out across the horizon, gaze forgoing the stark landscape as a memory floods his mind. "Tinsel," he says suddenly, dreamy quality to his voice. "My sister loved tinsel. And we made those ugly paper chains to drape over _everything_. I remember… my mom always wanted to keep them, because we made them. And one year Rebecca hung them all over the fire escape and there was a big snow storm and they got ruined." He releases a small chuckle. "Becca hid under my bed and cried… she thought ma was gonna chew her out."

"Did she?"

He shakes his head and wrinkles his brow. "I don't remember," he says sadly. Then, with a shrug, "I don't think so… I don't think she would've. I mean, they were just paper."

Clint carefully slides back over to him and takes hold of the end of one strand of lights. He looks assessingly at the side of Bucky's face as the super soldier grimaces at a particularly hard-to-get-out knot. "How much do you think you _do_ remember?" he asks finally, his voice quiet but crisp in the silent winter air. Bucky turns to him with a wrinkled brow. "About… before. You know, being a kid, growing up in Brooklyn. Before the war."

"Before the war, or before Hydra?"

He shrugs. "Either, I guess."

Bucky licks his wind-chapped lips as he thinks about it. "I guess I'm not really sure. I don't usually remember _not_ remembering something. So I don't really think about it unless something like that comes up… a story I can't remember the ending to or something." He sighs and turns back to the lights. "Sometimes Steve starts up a story about when we were kids, or just mentions _something_ and I know I _should_ know what he's talking about. But I don't. I guess that's really the only time I notice it."

Clint nods solemnly, slowly winding the newly untangled strand of lights around his arm. "You think that's what it's like for Doc?"

Bucky looks up at him, his eyes wide, almost startled.

"Not remembering, I mean," he explains. He shakes his head a bit, clucking sadly. "I guess for a while there she didn't really know… what'd you say? You don't remember _not_ remembering." He tilts his head up towards the sky as the puffy snowflakes continue to fall. "Guess she knows now though."

Bucky continues to stare at him, his fingers stilled on the mass of lights in his lap.

"Guess that knowledge alone could almost make a person go crazy, huh? Just knowing that your life isn't what you thought it was, your memories aren't what you thought they were… _you_ aren't who you thought you were?" he asks, slowly bringing his eyes down to meet Bucky's. "She say anything about that? To you?"

He shrugs and gives a quick headshake before diving back into the lights. "No. Not really."

"Yeah," he breathes out, sidling back over to the beginning of the overhang with the strand in hand. "Well, that's Doc, though, right? Keep everything close to the vest."

Bucky's face contorts in confusion. "Did she say something to you?" he asks, watching the man closely to make sure he doesn't slip as he begins hanging the strand from the hooks.

"Nope." He gives a little tug on the string, prompting Bucky to continue his work so he can feed the lights over. "But… c'mon, man."

Bucky gets to his feet and shuffles over next to him. "You got something to say, just say it."

"Alright," he begins, turning to face him. "I might be overstepping here, but… well I told you before that I'd always be looking out for her." He raises an eyebrow and cocks his head down towards the far-off ground. "I'm taking a chance that you're less likely to punch me if it could mean knocking me off my own roof. While my wife and kids sit inside baking cookies."

"You're gonna say something that's gonna make me want to punch you?" he asks, his face stony.

Clint lets out a small chuckle. "Here's the thing, Sarge. I know you're worried. Hearing about what happened… the _wall_," he says, encapsulating the final word in sarcastic quotation marks. "And hearing about why they did it… how close she came to losing it."

Bucky fixes him with a serious stare. "She tried to kill herself," he says simply, pointing out that _losing it_, in this instance, didn't just mean needing to head into therapy.

He nods soberly. "I know. And… yeah, that freaked me out too, hearing that. And I'm worried too… worried that if she does say she wants her memories back, she might – "

"Finish the job?" he asks, a biting quality to his voice.

"_Jeez_," he huffs. "Yes. That." He locks onto his eyes, a thoughtful expression on his face. "But I don't think she will. I think she's a hell of a lot stronger than people give her credit for."

Bucky lets out a soft sigh as he nods. "I know she's strong. But…"

"But what?" he prompts, reaching over and tugging apart a particularly thick clump of lights from the ball in Bucky's hands.

"But," he starts, averting his eyes, "I can't stop thinking that the bike accident…" He pinches his lips together, nostrils flaring as he wrestles with whether or not to voice his thought… his fear. "I _never_ would've given her that bike if she didn't know how to ride."

Clint shakes his head. "That doesn't mean anything. Any of us could lose control."

He raises his brows high, eyes widening as he says, "I know she lost control. I just don't know if she lost control of the bike… or something else."

"Okay, I'm gonna stop you right there." He wraps some more length of lights around his arm and sidles down the roof to start securing the strand along the lower overhang. "She didn't wreck on purpose," he says, focusing his stare on the work before him to avoid looking at he man behind him. "She wasn't trying to kill herself, so that better not be what you're suggesting."

Bucky says nothing. He simply continues to stand on the snow-covered roof, diminishing length of mostly untangled lights dripping from his fingertips. He doesn't speak. He doesn't move. And the eerie stillness causes an odd chill to run through Clint's body.

He falls back onto his heels atop the snowy shingles, and he peers back over his shoulder at Bucky. "It's her decision anyway," he says with a sigh. "If she wants to risk that… well, she knows what the risks are."

"I never said it wasn't her decision," he says finally, his voice low.

"Yeah, I know." He stands up and gathers the remaining lights from Bucky's grasp. "But you know that she's never gonna say yes to this if you don't tell her it's okay. The last thing she wants to do – after this past year especially – is cause you any more worry or pain."

He snorts out a bit of a sardonic laugh. "It's not _okay_, Clint."

"C'mon, man. Have some faith. Didn't the Professor say he'd work with her to bring things back slowly. He's not gonna just let her get lost in there. None of those guys will. And she has all of us now too. And you. We're all here to keep her steady."

Bucky sits down awkwardly on the roof, dropping his head into his hands. The snow is picking up around them, giving a bright new sheen to the otherwise gray, cloudy sky. "I can't lose her," he says into his palms. "I can't risk that."

Clit drops a hand to the man's shoulder. "Life's a risk," he says, voice deep and sharp.

Bucky looks up at him with a pained expression. "It's not just… He didn't just…" He shakes his head as he tries to collect his thoughts. Then, with a long sigh, he says, "He didn't just _hide_ memories from her. He made her into someone else." Clint takes a seat beside him and he gives him a pitiful sort of frown. "What if she becomes who she was? What if she becomes Anna? And maybe Anna… doesn't want anything to do with me."

Clint purses his lips together as he thinks on that for a moment. "Are you Bucky Barnes?" he asks finally, earning him a confused and impatient glare. "Are you the same Bucky Barnes you were before Hydra made you into _someone else_?"

"No," he replies. "Of course not."

"Then why would you think she'd become Anna?" He nods. "How could she magically become someone who hasn't lived her life for the past ten years?"

Bucky shrugs evasively, turning his gaze down to the snow-covered roof. "She could still be… different. She could change."

"She's already changed," he challenges. "And lately… it doesn't seem like any of it's for the better."

"Yeah. I know," he replies with a pout. He pulls in a long, deep breath. "I know. But… it could still get a hell of a lot worse. Whatever Xavier buried… those memories… that _power_ that she had…" He shakes his head again, snow flakes sputtering from his hair.

"_That_ is her life," Clint says solemnly. "Those memories are _her_ memories. And she deserves to have them back. And that power is what she was born with… it's what she's meant to have. Not just some piddly part of it."

Bucky cocks his head towards him. "You think the powers she has now are piddly?" he asks with a crooked smirk.

He takes a deep breath, the cold air giving him a quick shot of adrenaline when it hits his lungs. "Compared to what she's capable of?" he asks, standing up and getting back to work. "Look," he says, after hooking the end of the first string in place, "All I'm saying is that _I_ think she deserves to be… whole. And I would think that you'd want that for her too." He reaches over and grabs the next strand from where they'd set them when they first climbed up. "And maybe I'm wrong. Maybe you'd rather just keep her like she is… because that's safe and familiar. I get it. Sometimes I wish I could keep my kids from growing up… just keep them small and cute and… willing to let me take care of them. But I don't think Nate would be a very happy 30 year old if I still had to buckle him into a car seat and change his diaper." He stops what he's doing and frowns. "I don't think I'd be very happy changing diapers for the next 28 years either."

"You do realize you're comparing my girlfriend to a toddler, right?"

He turns to face him, raises his eyebrows assessingly. "Maybe that should say something about you're treating her right now."

Bucky opens his mouth to speak, to protest and argue. But something stops him. Some sort of niggling sensation in the back of his mind keeps him from speaking up. His mouth slams shut, a disgruntled sort of grunt being the only sound he utters as he turns and begins laying more unfurled lights out along the gutter.

They work in silence for the next twenty minutes or so, the task moving faster than it ever had before now that Clint has an extra set of hands. They're just about done when they hear the front door slam below them and see Lila take off across the yard, running towards the barn. Clint leans out over the overhang to peer below as she shouts, "Come _on_," in a very impatient tone.

He sees Cooper step off the porch next, slowly meandering, waiting for the gimpy woman on crutches to catch up. "Where are they going?" Bucky asks quietly.

"Cats in the barn," Clint supplies, turning back to fix the final strand in place. "One of them had kittens a few weeks back. Coop's been checking in on them." He finishes up and rises with a groan before turning to shout, "Stay out of the loft!" as Lila disappears into the barn, too impatient to wait on the others. He looks back at Bucky. "It's where we hide the presents."

The two take a final look at their handiwork before climbing down and heading over to the barn themselves. It's surprisingly warm inside without the cold wind whipping across their faces. Bucky can see that someone's hung blankets up along the walls to insulate, and he finds himself wondering if it was Clint or the oddly mature 11-year-old who's kneeled down over a box in the corner.

Lila points as Cooper pulls out a tiny ball of fur. "That one's Max," she says, her voice dripping with authority as her brother gently deposits the kitten into Tessa's waiting hands.

Tessa sits splayed out on the dirty floor of the barn as the little girl hops playfully back and forth over the top of her extended, braced leg. She's looking down at the little gray tiger-striped kitten in her hands, cooing as the tiny ball of fluff lightly mewls. "Max?" she says, voice soft, as she brings the kitten closer to her face. "But you don't look like an entitled little…" her lips press tightly together to keep her from uttering the word _prick_. "No," she starts up again, touching noses with the kitten. "No, you look like a perfect little baby kitty."

"Lila," Clint chides in a serious tone as he and Bucky stride across the barn. She immediately stops leaping around Tessa's broken leg and guiltily moves over to his side. "How are the babies?" he asks, draping his arm around her shoulder. He snakes a cold hand up along the back of her neck and she squeals and jumps away.

"They're good," Cooper answers as he pulls out a little orange tabby that looks just like the mama cat in the box. "This is Fanta," he says to Tessa, placing the kitten in her lap.

She looks up at Bucky as he walks over and holds out her hands, extending the gray kitten up to him. "His name is Max," she says in what might just be the sweetest tone he's ever heard come out of her mouth. "Just look!"

He almost can't tear his eyes away from her beaming face – it feels like it's been so long since he's seen her smile like that – but he doesn't have much choice when she continues to thrust the kitten at him. He takes Max from her and holds him against his chest as he slowly lowers himself down to the floor beside her. As soon as he's next to her, Fanta turns tail and scurries away, back over to the safety of her boy. Cooper scoops her up and snuggles her close before placing her back into the blanket-lined box.

But Max, he doesn't seem intimidated by the super soldier at all. If anything, he snuggles in closer. Bucky makes a move to pull the kitten away and hand him back to Tessa, but his tiny claws embed in his coat and refuse to let go.

"Looks like you found a new friend, Sarge," Clint says with a wink.

Tessa leans her head on his shoulder as she reaches up and cups the kitten along with him. "Isn't he the cutest thing?" she whispers. Max begins to purr as she strokes his back with her thumb.

Bucky tries to lower his gaze to get a look at the kitten, but the thing is curled so tightly into his chest that all he can make out from his vantage point is some gray fluff. "I guess," he mutters, letting the soft purring trill through his hand.

"I always wanted a cat," she mutters softly next to him. "Not sure why. I think I feel like they _get_ me."

"You know," Clint starts, grabbing hold of a very giggly Lila as she dances in circles around him, "we still don't have a home for him."

Bucky looks up quickly, leveling him with hardened eyes. "No way in hell."

Clint just laughs, taking a few steps back to make room for swinging the all-too-energetic girl around. "How many cookies have you had?" he asks his daughter as he moves further away from the couple and their kitten.

Tessa sighs sadly, dropping her head heavier onto Bucky's shoulder. "His name is Max," she repeats with a yawn.

"Yeah, I know," he says, voice firm. "I heard."

"But he's a cat. Think of how funny it would be if Max knew that I had a cat with his name. And I could talk about how great Max is. He's so cute and so smart. And then I could look at human Max and be like, '_not you_.'"

He stifles a laugh and says, with as much authority as he can muster, "We're not getting a cat."

She continues to softly stroke the kitten, whose purring has only intensified. "But he needs a home," she tries in the most pathetic way. "And he's so cute."

He tries again to peel the kitten off of him, which only earns him a precious mewl of protest. He gives up quickly, letting the animal just do as it pleases. "You can barely walk. The last thing you need is a cat underfoot."

"He couldn't go home with you now anyway," Cooper says suddenly. "He's not weened yet."

"See?" she says, ducking her head to meet Bucky's eyes. "He'd wait for me to get better."

"The apartment would smell like a litter box," he argues dully.

"We can afford good, deodorizing litter."

"And speaking of litter," he says, sly smile perking his lips, "who would be scooping it? And who would be feeding the cat? And, you know, in general, taking care of it?"

She pulls away from him and sits upright, her hand flying to her chest in mock shock. "Are you accusing me of not being willing to take care of this baby?"

"I'm accusing you of being too busy to remember to take care of it, yeah."

"Stop calling him an it," she says, narrowing her eyes at him before leaning over and gently – and effectively – peeling Max from Bucky's chest. "He's a _he_… I think… maybe…" She frowns as she tries to remember how to tell if a kitten is a boy or a girl, knowing it can be hard to do when they're this young. "And his name is Max," she says after a moment.

"Sorry," he says, amusement lingering on his face. "I'm accusing you of being too busy to remember to take care of _Max_."

She scoffs loudly. "I would never be too busy for my baby," she says, snuggling the kitten up next to her cheek.

"He's not your baby," he deadpans. "And you should be careful doing that. He might have fleas."

"They don't have fleas," Cooper mumbles softly from his spot by the box.

She holds the ball of fluff up directly in front of Bucky's face. "But he _could_ be our baby." She leans the kitten in to bump noses with him and then – speaking for Max – she drops her voice into the most atrociously cute baby talk possible, "I don't know who my daddy is. Will you be my daddy?"

"Oh God," he mutters, pushing the cat away from his face.

"Pwease?" she continues as he pulls himself up from the floor.

"Put the cat away," he tells her, motioning towards Cooper. "And get back inside." He furrows his brow as he stares down at her. "You don't even have a coat on."

He watches as the playful pout on her face gives way to a sincerely disappointed frown. She lays a tender kiss on the kitten's head and gingerly hands him back over to Cooper, who places him in the box beside his sibling. "Sorry Max," she says sadly before reaching up to take Bucky's hand and let him haul her up from the floor. "I really would take care of him," she says as he wraps his coat around her shoulders.

"Uh huh," he intones, grabbing the crutches she'd laid against the wall earlier and handing them over.

"I'm a doctor," she says reproachingly. "If there's one thing I know, it's how to keep someone alive."

He hovers behind her, slowly shuffling as she lumbers out of the barn. "And why is it that, for as long as I've known you, you've never had a single living plant in your house?"

She stops suddenly and turns to glare at him. "I said I can keep _someone_ alive, not _something_. And before you even try it, that little baby kitty is _someone_."

He lets out a small laugh. "Okay. I believe you," he says, gently nudging her to urge her forward. The snow's cascading down around them and without his coat, he's getting a bit uncomfortable lingering outside.

"So we can keep him?" she asks, her voice alight with excitement. He gazes at her for just a quick moment, taking in the bright green of her hopeful eyes, the deep pink tinge to her cheeks and nose. The smile… that smile that he's so desperately missed.

"No," he huffs out simply, leaning closer to her warmth as they make their way back through the cold together.


	6. Walmart

Bucky's face is drawn into a tight frown as his eyes ping around the wide aisles before him. "This place gives me the creeps" he mumbles under his breath, scowl growing deeper as he leans heavily on the cart. He slowly pushes the cart through the throngs of people, Tessa hobbling in pace by his side.

"What do you think about bath stuff for Laura?" she asks, veering off towards an aisle filled with shampoos and body washes.

He bolts upright and shoots out, "Tessa!" as he watches a large woman, clearly distracted by her phone, nearly ram into her with her cart.

She turns in time to see her, just managing to dodge the cart, but winds up teetering dangerously from the quick movement. "Fucking hell," she mutters, dumfounded look taking over her face as she watches the woman pass without so much as a nod, let alone a _sorry_. Bucky shoves his cart, almost violently, in front of a gaggle of teenagers spread out across the aisleway and pulls up at her side. "Did you see that?" she asks as he wraps his gloved metal hand around her waist to steady her.

He turns and gives the kids who are now behind them a dirty look. "Yeah."

"Bitch," she says blankly, shaking her head, before commencing shopping once again.

"This place is worse than Siberia." He lets her move further down the aisle, but keeps her corralled to the side with the cart, just in case some other unruly patron tries to knock her over.

She picks up a pink bottle and pops it open, gives it a good whiff before wrinkling her face in disgust and replacing it on the shelf. "It's Walmart two days before Christmas," she says distractedly as she grabs another bottle and frowns down at the label. "This is basically the second circle of hell."

He watches as she narrows her eyes, trying to read the label. "Forget your glasses?" he asks with an amused smirk.

She looks up at him, pensive expression unchanging. "Do you think that lavender body wash and chamomile lotion say, _thanks for letting us make your holiday a little more hectic, now go and take a load off_? Or does it say, _we think you stink_?"

"The first," he tells her, grabbing the bottle in her hand and tossing it into the cart.

She sputters, turning so fast she almost drops a crutch. "Wait! Maybe we should go Christmas themed… peppermint lotion?" He wrinkles his nose. "No. Yeah, okay… soothing scents of lavender and chamomile." She nods absently, turning back to the shelves. "That'll work."

"I thought we were here for the kids," he says, trying to step aside as an elderly couple push their way through. He had been less than thrilled about the prospect of going shopping period, let alone going shopping at the only big box store in the tiny town the day before Christmas Eve. But the trip to the Bartons' was last minute and a bit ill-conceived. And they had only really realized after they arrived that they were going to spend Christmas morning with three children, none of whom they'd even _thought _about getting gifts for. Bad idea.

"Yeah," she breathes out, sounding almost deflated. "I'm just not sure that I'm ready to brave the toy aisles yet."

He looks over at her as she thumbs through some face masks on the shelf. She's still squinting a bit and he realizes that the reason she didn't put her contacts in this morning is because her eyes were too puffy from crying herself into a restless sleep following a particularly rough nightmare. They're still pretty puffy now, with dark circles resting just beneath. She lets out a sigh and leans heavily on the crutches in an awkward way, as though her one good leg is too tired to help her stand. He chides himself internally for agreeing to do this at all, or at least for agreeing to bring her along. "Why don't you go back and warm up the truck? I can grab some toys."

She turns and raises a single suspicious brow in his direction. "Really? What do you know about what kids want?"

"What do _you_ know?" he challenges.

She drops a couple of bath bombs into the cart and shimmies out from between it and the shelves, where he had her penned in. "Do you even know what kids play with nowadays?" she asks, hobbling back into the crowd of people, aiming for the toys on the opposite side of the store. "You can't give them yo-yos or slinkies, or whatever it is you played with back in ancient Brooklyn."

He hurriedly pulls up alongside of her, narrowly avoiding a harried-looking man with his arms full of bottles of liquor. _'Tis the season_, he thinks to himself. "I was an adult when the slinky came out," he tells her impassively. She stops in her tracks and gives him a wide-eyed look. "Yeah," he smirks, "I'm old."

The toy aisles actually aren't quite as packed as they thought they'd be. Parents must've been on the ball this year. Either that, or they're leaving their last-minute shopping for Christmas Eve. "I don't know what ponies she already has," Tessa hums thoughtfully as she peruses the selection of My Little Pony dolls.

He glances around the wall of brightly colored toys and lets out a huff. "How are there so many?"

"I feel like everybody has Applejack, right?" she asks, shooting a glance over her shoulder at him.

He cocks a brow at her. "How the hell should I know?" Then, shaking his head, "How the hell would you know?"

She gives a noncommittal shrug. "Ooo," she lets out suddenly, awkwardly reaching for the top shelf. "My Little Pony _and_ Play-Doh!"

Bucky steps up and reaches above her to grab the box she's lunging for. "Sold," he says, dropping it into the cart. "What's next?"

"Toddler toys," she enthuses, crossing in front of him to pop down to the next aisle. But once they arrive and are surrounded by the vast array of items, her face drops. "What the hell is this stuff?" she asks, her nose wrinkled, brow raised shadily.

He snorts out a laugh, her ridiculous expression making his eyes shine in delight. She frowns at him, not at all sharing in his amusement, and he fends off the remaining sniggers, clearing his throat to speak. "Well," he says, trying for a serious tone, "if there's one thing I know about younger siblings, it's that their favorite thing to do is steal the older ones' stuff."

"Sooooo, more ponies?"

He shrugs. "He seems to like to break shit." His brow creases in thought as his eyes traverse the selection of toys in front of them. He reaches down and picks up a box of giant Legos. The packaging shows that the kit contains pieces for building cartoon-like animals.

She leans over and rests her chin on his shoulder as she reads the box. "Puzzle Pets."

"He likes Lila's ponies. He cried for an hour after hearing we saw the cats without him. So he likes animals in general." He rests his cheek on the top of her head for a brief moment, dropping a quick kiss on her crown before pivoting and dumping the box into the cart. "He can put the pieces together and then smash them apart. Win, win."

She smiles wide as he pulls away and guides the cart down the aisle. "You're good at this."

"Does that surprise you?" He turns to her with a twinkle in his eye. "I'm an excellent gift giver."

She stops short. "Please tell me there'll be another Ducati under the tree for me."

"Not a chance in hell," he says before rounding the corner.

It takes her a moment to catch up, and once she does, she finds him in an aisle filled with children's sporting equipment. "Does Cooper play sports?"

Bucky frowns at all of the gear surrounding him. "He plays baseball. But he probably already has all of this." Tessa sidles up next to him and leans heavily against his right side. He can feel her waning even before she lets loose with a long, drawn-out yawn. "I'd really like to get him a rifle," he says, draping his arm over her hip.

She springs upright so fast it almost knocks him off balance. "You can't give a kid a gun!" He stifles a laugh at her shocked expression, and that only spurns her on. "_James_," she scolds. "You cannot give an 11-year-old a firearm."

He cocks his head thoughtfully. "Hunting knives?"

She balances precariously, letting go of one of the crutches so that she can give him a quick shove. "You're fucking with me," she accuses, eyes narrowed. He simply laughs.

After much debate, they decide to get Cooper a chemistry set that looks just dangerous enough for him to enjoy and his parents to hate. Bucky insists that's the perfect combination for a pre-teen boy. Tessa insists that science is the way to go because he's clearly going to become a veterinarian some day.

As they make their way back toward the front of the store, he again suggests that she go warm up the truck. And this time she agrees, swiping the keys from him without any argument. He lets out a deflated sigh as he watches her stagger towards the door, seeing all of the overflowing checkout lanes she passes along the way. He very nearly fell off of a roof just a few hours ago, yet _this_ is shaping up to be the worst part of their whole damn trip.

But before he can pick his poison and wait to check out, there's one more stop he has to make. He pushes the cart into the pet section and reluctantly begins down the cat aisle. He frowns at the feathery toys, grabbing the least tacky-looking one and tossing it into the cart. Then he chooses a cozy fleece-lined bed that has blue squiggles on the outside almost the exact same color as their bedroom walls. And finally, "I wanna hear you coming," he mutters to himself as he grabs a bright blue collar off the wall and shakes it almost violently to test the bell. He gives a curt nod of approval and drops it into the cart along with everything else.

It's another twenty minutes – maybe more – before he makes it through the checkout and out to the truck. It's still snowing, but that must be a pretty common occurrence around here because it certainly didn't seem to keep anyone from coming out. The parking lot is packed as he pushes the cart up to Clint's old rusted-out Chevy. He tosses the bags into the back, making sure they're well covered with the tarp, and climbs into the warm cab.

"These people are crazy," Tessa mutters softly, barely open eyes taking in the rush of patrons. Her head is pressed up against the cold window, breath fogging the glass as she speaks.

He reaches over and slowly peels off her hat, runs his thumb delicately along her hairline as she slowly looks up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. She continues to rest as much of her forehead against the glass as she can, and he frowns as he asks, "Your head hurt?"

She smiles at him weakly. "After all that? Yeah."

"You should go up to bed when we get back," he tells her as he tucks her hair behind her ear.

She scoffs at him. "It's barely five o'clock."

"Yeah, but you're tired."

She pivots a bit so that the back of her head presses against the window, and she stares at him assessingly. "I'm okay," she says suddenly, reaching up and taking hold of his hand. "Really. Don't worry so much."

He pulls his hand away and turns the knob on the dash to pump up the heater, then he shakes his head adamantly. "Not really an option, sweetheart." She doesn't reply, simply continues to stare at him as he blows hot breath onto his fingertips. They sit in the truck in silence for a long moment, watching the snow fall around them. When he does speak again, he doesn't look at her, instead keeping his gaze trained on the lot in front of them. "I think you should do it."

He hears her shift, hears the nylon material of her coat crinkle as she sits upright. But still, he doesn't look at her. "Do what?" she asks simply.

He drops his head and reaches up for the steering wheel, grips it almost maniacally for a fraction of a second before releasing his fingers. "You know what."

Her hand drops to his thigh and his eyes trail over to see her pale fingers knead at his leg. She moves closer, the bench seat making it easier for her to sidle right up next to him. As she does so, he wraps his right arm around her almost without thinking, draping it over her shoulders so that she can snuggle deeper into his warmth. "Are you sure?" she asks, voice more uncertain than he thinks he's ever heard it.

He clears his throat before answering, has to lest he not be able to get the word out. "Yeah."

She shifts next to him, raising her head to gaze at him. Her index finger lands on his chin and gently guides his face to the side so that he's finally forced to look at her. "Are you _sure_?" she asks again, this time sounding almost stern.

He nods, his gaze softening as he looks into her eyes.

"Why?" she asks, brow furrowed with curiosity.

He reaches out with his left hand and pinches her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Because you deserve to be whole again," he says, staring deeply into her eyes as the words sink in. He moves his lips down to hers and kisses her softly, delicately. But in a flash the gentleness is overcome by a sort of desperation. He deepens the kiss and she falls right into it, pressing her body tightly against his.

"I love you," she whispers quickly, pulling away just long enough for the words to tumble out of her. Without thinking, he moves his right hand down to the small of her back and leans in, guiding her down to the seat. "Um," she bites out, stiffening under him. And he immediately pulls away. "No," she says, straightening up. "Sorry."

He takes a deep, calming breath and tries to quell the flush that's spreading over his face. "Why would you be sorry?" he asks hurriedly.

"No," she says with a soft laugh. "I just… you have to let me straighten my leg out. He looks over to her and sees that her cheeks are burning pink, her eyes dark with desire. She bites her swollen bottom lip as the corners of her mouth tug up into a smirk. "Think you can find somewhere to park this thing that's a little less… public?" she asks, slowly moving her hand up the inseam of his pants.

He gives her a quick smile and shifts the truck into gear. "Put on your seatbelt," he says as he skids a bit on his way out of the lot. "Last thing we need is for you to break something else."


	7. Tell Me How You Really Feel

It's well past dark by the time they finally get back to the house, slipping through the backdoor in an attempt to keep the kids from seeing their bags. Clint hears Bucky stomping the sticky snow off his shoes and he peeks his head around the corner. "'Bout time you got back. Thought I was gonna have to send out a search party."

"For as long as I live, I'm never going back to that place," Bucky mumbles in reply.

"Walmart?" Clint snorts. "It's just part of small town living. Besides, where else can you get everything you need for dinner – including the ammo to shoot it with – in one stop?"

Tessa pushes past him slowly, her body achingly tired as it propels her along on the crutches. "Gross."

He frowns over at her. "You look like hell. I had no idea a trip like that would take so much out of you city folk."

She leans up against the wall of the mudroom and struggles to pull off her boot, grimacing at the movement. "Yeah, well," she huffs out. "We also had sex in your truck. That's really what did me in."

"Ungh," he issues out, face wrinkled in disgust. He turns to Bucky, who's struggling to remove his own wet boots while still balancing all of the bags in his grip. "Not cool, man," he says, jabbing a pointed finger in his direction.

He finally frees himself of his shoes and is about to start helping Tessa when he sees her boot fly across the small room. He wrinkles his brow, wondering just how she managed to do that. "We didn't have sex in your truck," he says, scooting all of the shoes into a corner. "We just made out for a while."

Clint glances back at Tessa and catches her nod before she lets out a giant yawn. "Alright," he says simply, stepping closer to her and holding out a hand for a high five. She gives him a weak smack and he accepts it with a look of concern. "Dinner should be ready in about twenty minutes. Think you can stay awake that long?"

She quirks an eyebrow at him, along with a crooked smile. "Honestly, it's like you've never met me."

But the doctor who used to be able to camp out in her lab all night long and still keep things on track throughout the next day, the woman who could easily transition from a wild night out to a five mile morning run with her super soldier best friend… she was _long_ gone.

Between starting up the new division at Stark Industries, maintaining daily duties at the compound, and, well, trying not to lose her damn mind for the last several months, Tessa's energy was kaput. And that was _before_ the bike accident fucked her up. Thanks to her lack of a kidney, she's been anemic for weeks now, leaving her exhausted even after a good night's sleep… which she most definitely did _not_ get last night. Add a hit of Percocet into the mix – which she _needs_ right now – and she's liable to pass out at the kitchen table. Which is exactly what happens not 10 minutes into dinner.

After Bucky carries her up to bed, Clint meets him at the foot of the stairs and hands him a shovel. "Snow's waning," he tells him shortly. "But we're supposed to get another round tomorrow, so we should take care of what we can now."

Bucky lets out a deep sigh as they head out front. "And here I thought I'd never have to see Siberia again."

"Yeah," Clint intones, stopping short. He turns to make sure the door is closed and no little eavesdroppers are around. "About that…" Bucky cranes his head towards him, suspicious look taking over his face. "Cap called while you were out. Said they got some Hydra-related intel."

"What does that mean?"

He shrugs. "Specifically? I don't know. But he did mention your old buddy Rumlow." Bucky rolls his eyes at the insinuation that he ever even really knew the man. "Apparently, he got ahold of a shipment of high-power weapons somewhere off the coast of Africa. They're tracking him now, but it's pretty obvious he's up to no good."

"Not exactly a surprise," he mutters as he yanks on his gloves and sets to shoveling the walk.

Clint gives him an assessing look. "Nat said he's been acting as a mercenary for a while now. Any idea what he's got planned?"

Bucky doesn't so much as toss a glance his way. "Nope."

"Hm. Just thought… maybe… with you knowing Hydra so well…"

He turns on him, slamming the blade of the shovel into the cement walkway. "I don't know what he has planned, Barton. I don't know _him_. Just because he was there doesn't mean –"

Clint throws up his hands. "Hey man, I know. I get it. I was just thinking that he might not be operating on his own. He might just want it to _seem_ that way."

"I'm not stupid enough to think that Hydra is actually dead and gone," Bucky says, in a low voice as he steps closer. "But I'll tell you one thing. They were smart enough to stay hidden for over half a century. And you don't manage that with jackasses like Rumlow on the front lines. If he's out there calling himself _Crossbones_, stirring up shit with arms dealers," he shakes his head solemnly, "then he's not doing it for Hydra. Too high profile."

Clint nods. "Fair enough. Just thought I'd ask."

Bucky narrows his eyes at him. "_You_ thought you'd ask, or Steve wanted you to ask?"

"Nat mentioned it, actually," he responds, picking up his shovel and heading for the drive. "You don't think Steve just would've asked you himself?"

He shrugs. "Not really sure what he'd do anymore," he mumbles before scraping up a giant mound of snow and easily tossing it off to the side.

"Ah," Clint says, a hint of humor to his voice. "That's right, you two had a bit of tiff. America's dynamic duo, best friends for most of the 20th century… fighting over a _girl_."

"You sound like Tessa. And we were both frozen for most of the 20th century."

Clint shrugs. "Still counts." He glances back and sees that Bucky's already at the opposite end of the walkway, scooping up the final shovelful of snow. "Damn super soldier," he mumbles under his breath as he struggles to continue his work on the driveway. "You have to forgive him sometime, you know."

Bucky finishes his job and heads over to Clint's side. "I forgive him. It's not about that." He strides past him, moving down to the end of the drive to begin shoveling.

"But you're still pissed," he says, his voice cutting cleanly through the cold winter air.

Bucky shrugs as he makes quick work of the snow. "He just shouldn't have done it. That's all. Steve's always been like that. Impulsive." He looks back up at Clint, stilling as he says, "He does what he wants… what _he _thinks is right. And he does it without thinking about the consequences."

Clint nods, raising his brows in assent. "You know him better than me, I guess." He scrapes through some more snow, grunting as he goes, but he stops working when he notices that Bucky's already managed to clean up nearly half of the drive. He leans on his shovel and watches the super soldier work for a long moment, content with his sudden decision to just let him finish the whole damn thing.

When Bucky makes it to the top of the driveway, he gives Clint a curious look. "You give up?" he asks, nodding at the man's lazy stance as he leans heavily on the shovel.

Clint just nods. "You're so much better at this than me. Thought I should just let you have this one."

The two share a short laugh as they head around back to go inside, kicking of their boots and shaking out their coats in the mudroom. Clint traipses into the kitchen and nonchalantly kisses the back of Laura's head as she does the dishes. Then he leans into the fridge to grab a couple beers. Laura glances back at him and then over at Bucky. "The kids are watching a movie, so you might want to go down to the _workshop_," she finishes with a wink.

Clint leads the way down to the room in the back of the basement. He does refer to it as his workshop, mainly because it's where he keeps his plans for the house. But there isn't a tool in sight. Rather he has an old sofa pushed up against one wall and a giant flat screen mounted on the wall opposite. "Kids aren't allowed in here," he tells Bucky as he hands him a beer and drops onto the couch. "I told them there were nail guns."

"Knowing your kids, I would think that would just encourage them to come down here and play."

He stretches out, popping his feet up on top of an old, scratched-up coffee table. "It did. But when they found out there weren't any nail guns… or chainsaws or other sharp objects, they got bored and haven't been back since."

Bucky nods, his eyes glimmering in amusement as he takes a seat. He brings the beer bottle up to his mouth and pauses before taking a drink. "You've got a really great family," he says in a low tone. "You should be proud."

A small smile pulls across Clint's face. "I am." He glances over at Bucky and notices the far-off look in his eyes. Chuckling a bit, he asks, "You thinking about what it's like?" Bucky turns and gives him a confused glare. "Having a family," he explains simply.

His face breaks just a bit, the stoniness fading into a slight smile as he shakes his head. "No. Not really," he says with a small laugh. "I got enough on my plate just taking care of the mess upstairs."

"Yeah," Clint returns. "I can see that." He pulls in a deep breath before saying, "You know… just, speaking of family… what Cap did… going to see the Professor… he did it because he loves Tessa. And you."

Bucky drops his eyes to his lap – "I know" – before glancing back up at Clint. "But that doesn't make it right."

"Maybe not… but then again." Bucky raises an almost threatening eyebrow, pulling an uncomfortable laugh from the man. "I guess I'm just saying that… you said he does what he thinks is right. And I'm not so sure that he was wrong. This time, at least." He gives Bucky a serious, somber stare. "Just because you weren't part of the decision, doesn't mean it was the wrong call."

Bucky turns his gaze away towards the wall and takes another pull from his beer. "Maybe. But…" He shakes his head miserably and lets out a long sigh. "Having this house here… far away from the Avengers, from everything…" he looks back at Clint with a warm expression. "This is _yours_. Your family. You don't have to share them with anybody." He glances down at the bottle in his hand and begins to absently peel away the label. "Where we are… there's no getting away from everyone else. We live in the same compound. We work together. We're all on top of one another. And sometimes I feel like… like…"

"Like you can't breathe?" Clint tries.

Bucky turns back to him and flashes a brief, albeit sad smile. "Tessa and me, we started there, with everybody watching us, speculating and… judging. Giving advice that no one asked for and opinions that I sure as hell didn't need to hear."

"It was pretty close quarters in the Tower," he says with a nod. "Hard to have any privacy."

He raises his eyebrows in an expression of reluctant acceptance. "Yeah, well, it's not much better now." He finishes peeling the label and crumples it up before dropping it onto the coffee table in front of them. "Sometimes it feels like everyone… thinks they're part of our relationship. Like they have the right to say how we do what we do." He turns bodily to face Clint, his expression almost lost and childlike. "Steve tried to convince me that we shouldn't live together after the…" he pauses briefly and pulls in a deep breath. "After I choked her in her sleep."

Clint nods, his face sober. "Yeah, well, we were all a little worried then."

"And he told me if we did move in together, we should get married. Even said we were 'living in sin'," he says with a sharp, sardonic laugh. "He was so pissed about the damn Ducati." He shakes his head, a newfound bitterness taking over. "And it's not just him. Romanov is always sticking her nose in where it doesn't belong."

"She's Tessa's friend," he interjects.

Unfazed by the comment, Bucky continues. "Stark designed our apartment how _he _thought it should be without even consulting us until the end. He gave Tessa this job that has her traveling all over the world, working like crazy."

"Well, he is her boss. And it's a job she wanted."

"But he just… sold it to her. She never even talked to me about it. And he built her a _suit_… so she could go on missions. From the get-go, he's had these… _plans_ for her." He pauses only briefly, his brain going into overdrive. "And then there's Sam, with his bullshit psychoanalysis."

Clint wrinkles his forehead in confusion. "Didn't you ask him to talk to her?"

"Only because she wouldn't talk to anyone else. Except, apparently, Wanda. And Wanda sure as hell didn't think I needed to know anything about what they were doing."

"I see what you're getting at. I do. Boundaries can be tough when you're around family. It's one of the reasons we moved out here. Laura's family… her mom…" Clint's eyes widen, brows shoot up. "She can be… a lot. After Coop was born… man, I thought we might get into a fistfight a couple times."

"Yeah, but… her mom? That _is_ family."

"And Steve's not?" he challenges. "Thought you too were like brothers…"

"We are. I'm not saying Steve's not…"

"Just everyone else?"

He lets out a frustrated groan and sets down his beer. Leaning forward, he drops his head into his hands and scrubs at his face for a long moment before sitting upright and letting out a long, pained sigh. "One of the things that we had in common… one of the things that Tess and I… shared, was… I don't know… _not_ having a family. Not a real one, anyway. Not anymore." He gazes over at Clint, his blue eyes looking dull and gray. "We became each other's family. I'm hers. She's mine."

"So you're jealous?" he asks, no humor to his voice.

Bucky shakes his head. "I don't know. Maybe." His face pinches in thought for a long moment. "I just… _I_ should be the one to protect her, or to decide what or who she needs to be protected from – whether that's me or Lobe… or the Professor. I should be the one to figure out how to cheer her up, not Natasha. I should be the one she talks to… the one she goes to when something's up. Not Sam or Wanda. Or you."

Clint nods, an almost stern expression taking over his face as he drops his feet off the coffee table and sits upright on the couch. "Can I ask… have you talked to Doc about this?" Bucky cocks his head at him curiously. "Before you came along… Tessa and Steve were thick as thieves. I mean we were friends, sort of. She was definitely someone owed a _huge_ debt. But we weren't that close. I didn't actually know her to be close to anyone until Steve came along. He was her…" He inhales deeply. "I don't think there was ever anything romantic between them. Though honestly, it wouldn't have surprised me. It's kind of like you said, she didn't have any real family. And neither did he. And they became each other's. And then he introduced her to Stark and she went to work for him, and… man, those two really hit it off. I mean, it's almost scary how they get sometimes. Two peas in a pod. Then she started working with the Avengers and she and Nat got close…" He hones in on Bucky, leaning forward just the slightest bit. "You get what I'm saying here, Sarge?"

His face twists. "That I should ask Tessa if she ever slept with Steve?"

"No." He shakes his head, then stops suddenly and cocks it to the side. "Actually, yes. I would like to know the answer to that, now that you mention it." The slightest hint of a smirk pulls across his face. "But no. I'm saying that Steve introduced her to this life and to these people. So yeah, she's gonna trust him to make suggestions and give advice. And with the others… _she's_ the one who relies on Natasha to pull her out of a funk. And she's the one who accepted Tony's job offer. And she's the one who chose to go to Wanda for help without telling you. So if this really bothers you, _she's_ probably the one you should talk to about it."

He pulls in a long, deep breath before responding, "Yeah, I guess so."

They sit in silence for a long moment, each taking occasional swigs of beer until both bottles are empty. Clint gets up and heads for the door, empty bottles in hand. "I'll grab you another," he says on his way out.

But he stops short when he hears Bucky say, "I told her to do it. I told her she should have the Professor… put her back together."

"Yeah?" he asks quickly without glancing back.

"You were right," he mutters softly. "She does deserve to know her past. She deserves to be _whole_." He laughs lightly. "Guess sometimes getting advice from overbearing family can be a good thing."

Clint smiles to himself as he moves through the doorway, tossing over his shoulder as he goes, "Man, I'm the least overbearing of the bunch."


	8. Maybe

Christmas Eve morning starts off wonderfully lazy as Bucky lets Tessa sleep in until well past ten. "You needed it," he tells her when she finally hobbles downstairs and chides him for causing her to miss breakfast.

"Studies show you can't actually make up for lost sleep," she mutters, pouring herself a cup of coffee. She turns to him with a confused look, her nose wrinkled. "What time did we go to bed? I don't even remember."

He stops what he's doing at the kitchen counter and glances over at her with a smirk. "I went to bed around ten. You passed out at the kitchen table before seven."

"Oh shit," she laughs out. "Really?" He simply nods, brows raised in amusement. "Shit," she repeats breathily.

"You feel rested?" he asks, turning back to the cutting board in front of him.

"Mm-hmm." She takes a few steps closer to him and peers over his shoulder to see what he's up to. "Apple pie?!" she squeaks out upon seeing him slicing and dicing apples.

"Yep. Figured if we were going to intrude on their holiday, the least we could do was make them a meal." The corner of his mouth quirks up into a small half smile. "Besides, I promised I'd always make you Christmas dinner. And pie."

She lays her chin on his shoulder and watches as he continues to slice away. "Christmas _Eve_ dinner," she mutters. Then, popping a quick kiss on his cheek, she says, "Your mom raised you right," before backing away and taking a seat at the kitchen table.

He sets down the knife and turns to her with an oddly smug expression. "To be clear, though, this year _we_ are making dinner."

She cocks her head curiously. "_We_ as in you and _me_?" He nods. "But you said I'm not allowed in the kitchen."

"I said you _shouldn't_ be allowed in the kitchen." He turns back to his apples and dumps the chopped fruit into the bowl at his side. "Besides, this isn't my kitchen."

"You know I don't know how to cook," she laments dully.

"Well, you're about to learn." He sets aside the apples and gathers a variety of vegetables from the kitchen counter, along with about a dozen large russet potatoes. "I know some of these things don't look familiar to you," he says with a straight face as he lays the veggies out in front of her. "But I promise, they're food."

She takes another sip of her coffee and looks up at him with a stony expression. "They're _ingredients_," she counters. "Not the same thing."

He stifles a laugh as he turns to grab a knife and cutting board from the countertop. "I already washed them, so you just have to peel and chop."

He sets the utensils down in front of her and is met with a deep, comical frown. "Help me," she begs in a small, teasing tone. She gazes up at him with an exaggeratedly pathetic expression, popping out her bottom lip in a pout. "Please."

"This is why I tell you to stay out of the kitchen," he says, extending a pointed finger down at her. "It's not that you can't figure out how to cook. It's just that having you around is more trouble than it's worth."

The joking expression vanishes from her face, drawn lips and an almost bitter-looking quirk of an eyebrow replacing it. "Hurtful," she intones, setting aside her coffee and plucking a giant yellow pepper from the table.

He lets out a deep sigh and reaches for the pepper. "Give me that," he huffs out, dropping into the chair by her side. He hands her a peeler and cocks his head toward the potatoes. "Think you handle that?" he asks as he grabs the knife and cutting board, settling them in front of him.

She lets out a sort of annoyed grunt, but starts peeling potatoes just the same. "Maybe when I get my memories back I'll discover that I'm actually an amazing cook."

Bucky sputters a quick laugh. "I doubt it."

"Never know," she singsongs. "And if I am actually an amazing cook, well… see if I ever show _you_."

"Why would Xavier hide cooking skills from you?"

She shrugs. "Why would he hide everything else from me?" He glances up and gives her a peculiar look that she takes as pity. Her eyes drift down to the potato in her hand, but instead of continuing to peel it, she begins turning it around and around, inspecting its brown, dimpled flesh.

"Hey," he says softly, pulling her from her thoughts. "Talk to me."

She doesn't look at him, instead maintaining focus on the food in her hand. "I thought he loved me," she issues out, barely a whisper.

Bucky's hand stills on the knife and he pulls in a deep breath. "I think he was scared," he tells her, mentally kicking himself for defending the man who broke apart her mind. "I think he was scared that he'd lose you – on top of Jean and Scott and whoever else – and he made a bad call."

"Which I agreed to," she says with a raised brow and a resigned sigh.

"Yeah, well," he starts, reaching out and grabbing the potato from her before setting it off to the side. "I think you were scared too."

She looks down at the metal hand in front of her and takes it in her own, wrapping her fingers around his. She stares dreamily down at it as she traces over the thin, cool plates with the tip of her thumb. "Were you scared?"

His forehead wrinkles in confusion. "When?"

She looks up at him with an expectant gaze. "When you…" She pauses, looking away briefly but never dropping his hand. "When Steve found you. And brought you to New York." When her eyes travel back to his face they're soft and almost pleading. "You didn't really know who you were. You were confused…"

"Steve told you that?" Bucky had never really talked to Tessa about that time in his life. Sure, they'd met while he was largely in the midst of it, or just starting to find his way through it. But he _never_ shared with her how it actually felt. To be so lost inside his own head. To be unable to trust even his own thoughts and memories. To not recognize the man staring back at him in the mirror. To feel like he was being pulled apart from the inside. He tugs away from her and brings both hands up to scrub at his face as he lets out a sort of frustrated growl.

"I shouldn't ask?" she inquires, voice small.

"No," he barks out so suddenly that she starts in her seat. He drops his hands and shakes his head quickly. "No, baby. It's not that." He looks over at her and lets out a deflating sigh before offering a sad smile. "I should've known, that's all. I should've seen it," he mutters, gazing into her eyes.

Her brow furrows. "Seen what?"

"How you felt. How you _feel_." He reaches out and gathers her hand in both of his. "I don't know why, but… It just never occurred to me that you'd be going through the same thing… the same as _that._"

She ducks her head, gaze falling to the table. "So… were you were scared?"

He nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I was terrified. I didn't know who I was. Or who I was supposed to be. I couldn't trust myself… my mind… _shit_," he issues out, realizing all at once just how similar their experiences actually are. "I heard… voices inside my head. Had dreams, nightmares." He looks up at her somberly. She's more that acquainted with his nightmares, she's lived through them for years now. But how can it be, then, that this is the first time he's actually said any of this to her? "I'm so sorry," he breathes out, voice filled with regret.

She twists her hand in his and twines their fingers together. "There's nothing to be sorry for," she says with such absolute authority, such assurance, that he almost believes her. But then he remembers how frustrated he'd been over the last several months as she pulled deeper within herself, seeming to shut him out. How annoyed he got every time she had a nightmare and refused to talk about it. How angry he became when she finally did tell him what had been going on inside her head, realizing she'd been keeping things from him the entire time.

He knew how it felt to be that frightened and confused. And yet he bristled at her out of annoyance, pleaded with her and tried to force her into talking about something she clearly was unable to put into words, yelled at her when he should have been practicing patient understanding.

"You didn't realize," she says softly, drawing his focus back to her. She looks at him with knowing eyes, as if she understands exactly what's happening inside of his head right now. "And you have nothing to be sorry for."

He cocks his head a bit and snorts out a bitter laugh. "I was so worried about… protecting you," he says, shaking his head lamely. "I just wanted to… to… fix you."

"Yeah," she drawls out, crooked smile playing on her lips. "I know." She gazes over at his pained face, takes in his caustic, remorseful energy. "James," she says, ducking her head a bit to capture his eyes. "You did try to help. Every day. I pushed you away." She wiggles free of his fingers and brings her palm up to his face. "I hid my pain from you because I didn't want to hurt you, to scare you. And you hid yours from me…"

"Because I didn't want you to know that side of me. The scared, weak side."

"Right," she smirks. "Because you have to be the big tough super soldier, the _man_ who takes care of his _girl_." He narrows his eyes reproachfully, and she lets out a tight laugh at the expression, letting her hand drop to his shoulder. Stifling her amusement, she goes on to say, "Neither of us wanted the other to know how bat shit crazy we were. Simple as that."

He scoots his chair in closer and gently pulls her hand from his shoulder. He nods definitively as he gives her fingers a squeeze. "I was scared then," he admits, voice firm and resolute. "Yeah, I thought I was crazy. And I honestly didn't think it would ever get better." His pale blue eyes shine with a sort of confidence as he stares into hers and says, "But it did."

"I'm worried… I'm afraid…" She pauses briefly, gnawing on her bottom lip. "What if I find out who I am, and I really don't like her?" Her forehead wrinkles, face twisting into an overly anxious scowl. "Or what if she… _me_… what if I'm into things that I never used to be?"

He raises his eyebrows. "Kinky things?"

"Very funny," she says with a roll of the eyes. "What if I lose my passion for science? I mean… I don't remember Anna ever sharing that passion. What if I become more like her and less like me and… What if my work no longer brings me joy? What if I decide I want to be an _artist_?" she asks, her face pulling into an expression of disgust. He laughs in response, but says nothing. Her voice drops an octave as she asks, "What if I don't recognize that laugh?"

He gazes at her for a long moment before letting out a deep breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. "I got Bucky Barnes back in bits and pieces. I'm still remembering things that I never even knew I forgot. But at the same time…" He shakes his head solemnly. "I'm not him. Not really." He brings her fingers to his lips and grazes a soft kiss over her knuckles. "Anna will come back to you. And you'll recognize her… you'll recognize her as _you_. But she's not going to… take over."

"Are you sure about that?"

"No," he tells her honestly. "I'm just telling you what happened to me."

She smiles softly at him. "What a pair we make," she intones. "And they say opposites attract."

He leans back in his chair, picks up the knife in front of him and continues to slice the pepper. "Believe me, doll, there are plenty of things that we don't have in common." They sit in silence after that for just a moment before he utters, words barely audible, "I'm scared too."

000

Dinner is delicious… obviously. And Tessa is eager to point out – several times, in fact – that she made the mashed potatoes all by herself. "With plenty of direction," Bucky corrects, nudging her playfully under the table.

The adults are all seated in the kitchen, picking at apple pie and sucking down strong Irish coffee as the kids – who gulped down their pie in a matter of minutes – run off the sugar in the other room. "Best thing about Christmas Eve," Clint starts, pointing his fork across the table at the childless couple, "is that we can send those little monsters to bed whenever we want and there'll be no arguments."

"Will Santa not come if they argue?" Tessa asks with mock concern.

Clint nods. "Santa won't come if they so much as look at me the wrong way."

Laura lets out a harsh scoff. "He gets bitter Christmas Eve night because he knows there's always something that needs to be put together before making it under the tree."

"Yeah," he says, shoving another forkful of pie into his mouth. "Like that damn tricycle. Or Barbie's dream house!"

"What is it this year?" Bucky asks with a chuckle.

He looks over at him, eyes boring deeply into his. "Didn't you hear, Sarge? We're building the ponies a stable."

Bucky cocks his head at the man, eyebrows knitting curiously. "That was… seriously?"

Laura finishes the last sip of coffee and reaches across the table for the whiskey. "We actually found an old one on eBay. Paid more in expedited shipping than the thing is even worth. It's missing some pieces. So Daddy and Uncle James are going to take over Santa's workshop to fix 'er up."

"Sounds good," Tessa enthuses, holding out her mug for Laura to top off. "We need to repay the hospitality somehow."

Bucky narrows his eyes at the flowing whiskey. "That's enough," he says, reaching out and swatting away the bottle. Then, turning to Tessa, "What's this _we_?"

"What do you mean?" she asks, pouting as she takes a sip.

He raises a single, almost accusatory brow. "So far, I've risked my life putting up lights on a snow-covered roof, shoveled the front walk and driveway three separate times, braved Walmart two days before Christmas, and made dinner and desert from scratch. So I'll ask again," he says, unable to keep the teasing grin from sliding across his face. "What's with the _we_?"

She sets down her mug in a controlled and deliberate movement, and turns bodily in her chair to face him. "Have you already forgotten that I made the mashed potatoes?"

"And the gingerbread house," Laura is quick to point out.

Clint lets out an exaggerated _psh_. "Didn't both of those create more of a mess than anything?"

Tessa makes a move to stand. "You want me to go shovel the drive?" she asks, jutting out her chin as she challenges Clint. "Is that what you want me to do?"

Bucky reaches over and tugs on her sleeve to get her to sit back down, sniggering under his breath. Clint just stares straight at her and replies, "Yes."

"I'll do it," she says, yanking her arm from her soldier's grip and wobbling precariously as she does so.

"No you won't," Bucky says, reaching out to steady her. "Sit down."

Clint breaks into a huffy sort of laugh, one that only grows louder and more fervent when his wife smacks him in the shoulder. "You can read to the kids tonight," Laura tells Tessa. "They'd love that."

She frowns dramatically, dropping back into her seat at the table. "That's not enough," she utters, her words betraying a newly awakened exasperation. She's never been one to take advantage – at least not purposefully – and while she knows that they're all just joking around, even the implication that she isn't pulling her weight is enough to cause an angry burning in her chest.

"You want to do our taxes?" Clint quips, earning him another quick smack. "Ow," he laughs out. Then, "Relax, Doc. We're just messing with you. No one expects you to do anything."

"Because I'm a cripple?" she asks with a pathetic pout.

Clint nods emphatically as he shoves the rest of the pie into his mouth.

"No," Laura counters. "Because you're a guest."

Bucky swishes around the remaining coffee and liquor in the bottom of his mug. "But I still have to help put together a stable?"

She turns to him with a playful gleam in her eye. "And a sandbox table for Nathaniel, and a new bike for Coop."

"Oh shit," Clint breathes out. "I forgot about the bike." He pushes away from the table and rises with an exaggerated groan. "Come on, Sarge. If we get started now, we might be able to finish before midnight."

Bucky glances over at Tessa, flashing her a brief _help me_ look. When it doesn't elicit the hoped-for laugh, he gives her hand a firm squeeze and leans in to ask, "You okay?"

She nods, the frown on her face melting just the slightest bit. "I hate feeling… useless," she tells him with a somber sigh.

He smiles at her as he rises from his seat and leans down to whisper in her ear, "I can think of several _uses_ for you. Just wait 'til I get back," before jogging out the door after Clint.

000

The midnight timeline may have been a bit dramatic, but it does still take them a couple of hours to finish up all of the building – and _re_-building once they realize that the instructions for the sandbox table make no sense and that they have far too many bolts left over after putting together Cooper's bike. So it's well past nine by the time they make it back to the house. "I'll get up early and bring everything in," Clint tells Bucky as they stomp the snow from their boots. "Can't trust those little monsters not to pop outta bed in the middle of the night and ransack the place."

Bucky's struck by Clint's oddly captivating expression every time he refers to his kids as _monsters_ – a warm light emanates from his eyes as his lips quirk into an almost imperceivable smile. Every time, it makes the hardened super soldier grin. "You need a hand?" he asks, slipping off his shoes.

"Nah," he replies, patting him on the back. "You've officially earned your keep. You can go back to just being a guest now." He slides past the man as he heads for the living room where Laura is camped out on the couch watching _A Christmas Story_. "Go rest up. Tomorrow's gonna be crazy around here."

Laura cranes her neck around to see Bucky. "Tessa's upstairs reading to the kids." She glances down at her watch and frowns a bit. "But honestly, they went up a while ago, so she might've fallen asleep."

He nods at the couple as they curl around each other on the sofa, issues out a quick _goodnight_, and heads upstairs in search of Tessa. He finds her fast asleep, just as Laura predicted. But she isn't in their bed in the guestroom. Instead, he discovers her sprawled out on the bright pink four-poster bed in Lila's room.

He leans in the doorway and quietly takes in the sight. A large children's book with a colorful Christmas tree and a title he doesn't recognize imprinted on the cover lays splayed open across Tessa's chest as she reclines back onto the purple pillows piled behind her. Lila – decked out in red and white candy cane PJs – is curled up at Tessa's side, her face pressed into the crook of her arm. A small snore stems from further down the bed as Nathaniel shifts, rubbing his face – and his slightly snotty nose – into Tessa's outstretched leg.

Seventy years ago, Bucky Barnes would've imagined a scene just like this playing out in his own home, with his own wife and children. Seventy years ago, he would've _assumed_ that this would be how his Christmases would look – with the woman he loved curled protectively around his little candy-cane-clad girl. His son drooling on his Santa pajamas as he lay passed out in the comfort of his mother's warmth.

But these aren't his children. This isn't his house. The woman before him isn't even his wife. Yet, for some reason, he feels a warmth spread deep into his chest as a smile creeps across his face. _Maybe_, he thinks to himself. _Just…maybe._


	9. Look What Santa Brought!

The barely there light of dawn is only just beginning to brighten the room when Tessa gently wakes. She rolls over to peek out the window, watches the dark night turn to bright gray as the sun slowly presses through the cloud cover. Bucky's curled up before her, facing the window as well. But she can tell from his steady deep breaths that he's still dead to the world. She smiles coyly as she snakes a cold hand beneath his shirt, running her fingertips delicately up his spine, tapping each vertebrae as she goes.

"What are you doing?" he mumbles into his pillow, his body unmoving.

She swoops in closer, wraps both arms around him and tugs him to her. The minute her freezing hands weave around under his shirt and splay out on his bare chest he starts and tries to pull away. "Nope," she says with a smirk, hugging him tighter.

"You're gonna give me frostbite," he mutters, shifting just a bit and placing his own hands over the top of hers, rubbing her fingers through the thin fabric of his T-shirt. "There are better ways to wake me up, you know."

She issues out a soft laugh, and his face breaks into a wide, sleepy smile as he feels it roll out from her chest and into him. "It's Christmas," she whispers into his ear. "And look," she pulls her right hand out from beneath his shirt and points at the window. "It's snowing!"

"Great. More snow," he deadpans, slowly blinking the world into focus. "I'm surprised the whole house isn't covered by now." He shifts around, rolling over to face her in the dim light.

"Snow on Christmas is _magic_," she states with a large grin and a quirk of her brow.

He stares at her for a long moment, watches as her mirthful expression turns into an almost hesitant pout with her bottom lip tucking in between her teeth. He smiles then and leans his forehead into hers, saying softly, "Merry Christmas."

000

By the time they make it downstairs, the kids have already opened one gift each – "It's all we get 'til after breakfast," Cooper tells them, raising his voice to be heard over Nathaniel's steady whine.

"The anticipation is the best part!" Clint croons as he strides over and waves his son into the kitchen. Cooper rolls his eyes at his father before sulking past him to take a seat at the table. Clint hands Bucky a cup of coffee and quickly ducks out of Tessa's way as she makes a beeline for the kitchen. "She's getting better with those things," he comments as he turns to watch her propel herself towards the counter with the crutches.

"Morning coffee has always been a powerful motivator for her," he replies dully.

Clint nods, turning his attention back to the man at his side. "What took you two so long to get down here anyway?" he asks Bucky, side-eyeing him suspiciously. "You weren't doing it in my guestroom, were you?"

He quirks a sly brow at him and takes a long sip of coffee in lieu of responding.

"Oh, c'mon, man," he grumbles. "It's Christmas. Don't you know the baby Jesus is watching?"

Bucky wrinkles his forehead. "That might be the strangest thing you've ever said to me."

They all sit down to bacon and eggs, which Cooper and Lila finish in about five seconds flat. The two older kids quickly flee back into the living room to stand guard over their piles of presents as the adults take their sweet-ass time eating. Once Nate – who doesn't even entirely understand what's happening – begins eking and grimacing as he works to escape the straps in his booster seat, they all decide that they've bought about as much time as they can manage. With mugs full of hot coffee and Rumchata – the liqueur being added at Laura's insistence – they head into the living room and settle in for the inevitable mayhem.

Bucky and Tessa squeeze together into the large armchair off to the side, eager to stay out of the way so that the Barton family can have their own Christmas morning without strangers descending into the middle of it. But of course, they get pulled in none the less.

Almost every gift that Lila opens somehow makes it over to them, excitement shining from her face as she shows them each toy before dumping them all into Bucky's lap and going back for more. She's enthusiastic about pretty much _everything_, but once the newly renovated stables are unwrapped, all hell breaks loose. She lets out a screech unlike anything the childless couple in the corner has ever heard before, and charges up the stairs.

"Was that a good scream?" Bucky asks, still wincing from the sharp sound that set his ears to ring. Before anyone can answer, the little girl bounds back into the room, her arms full of My Little Pony dolls. She dances back over the stables – a beaming smile on her face – and dumps the ponies unceremoniously onto the floor. And then, the most amazing thing happens. Lila turns her back on everyone, sits cross-legged in front of her toys, and goes almost eerily quiet. The only sounds they hear from her over the next thirty minutes or so are the soft ramblings of her ponies as they settle into their new home and the terrifying shriek she lets out when Nate scoots too close.

Luckily, they're able to pretty easily distract Nathaniel by pulling him back to his own hoard of toys. His favorite? The gift that Bucky picked out for him. It isn't long before Tessa slips onto the floor next to the kid, quietly helping him build – and then rip apart – a Lego menagerie.

While she's preoccupied with the boy, Bucky has Cooper bring over the box in the corner and slide next to Tessa's hip. "What's this?" she asks suspiciously, eyes bouncing back and forth between Cooper and Bucky.

Both of them look rather suspect – Cooper rocking impatiently on his heels as he stands above her with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, and Bucky doing his best to hide a wide, knowing grin. "Open it," he tells her.

She continues to eye him distrustfully. "I thought we weren't doing presents 'til we got home."

He merely shrugs. "It was Cooper's idea."

Her gaze bounces back and forth between them a few more times before she dives into the package, ripping the wrapping from it with the same sort of fervor as the toddler at her side. She opens the box and pulls out a plastic stick with brightly colored feathers dangling from its tip. She wrinkles her brow and gives Bucky a confused look. "Kinky," she utters, drawing the word out slowly.

He grabs the toy from her, rolling his eyes as he tells her to, "Keep going."

She pulls out a fluffy cat bed next. Nestled inside are a pale blue collar with a tiny bell, a package of fuzzy toy mice, and a sealed envelope. She looks up at him with an expression of such sweet surprise that he finds himself blushing self-consciously, even as a bright smile blooms over his face. "Really?" she mutters softly, barely a whisper.

He nods down at the envelope in her hand, but it's Lila who shouts out from behind as she charges over, "Open it!"

She does, and pulls out a crayon drawing of a little black and gray cat – or what she guesses is supposed to be a cat. At the top of the piece of paper, in careful lettering that very clearly is _not_ from the same hand as the drawing, is written, "Adoption Papers."

She lets out a huge, breathless laugh. "Who did this?!"

Lila jumps onto her back, flinging her arms around her neck as she yells out, "I did!"

"Well," Cooper starts, "she drew the picture. Not sure why. But they're adoption papers. For Max."

Clint sneaks up and grabs the little girl from behind, pulling her off of Tessa. "Those papers are official and binding, by the way" he says over Lila's squeals.

Bucky glances up at the man with the crazed kid dangling from his arms. "We haven't signed anything yet," he says flatly. He looks back at Tessa, whose mouth is agape, hands still holding tight to the paper and the little blue collar. "And we're changing that name. I won't have a _Max_ in my home."

She nods slowly, gazing down at the drawing once more. When she looks back up at him, her eyes are covered in a light sheen of tears that makes them so damn bright he feels his stomach clench. She slowly pulls herself up the chair until she's nestled in his lap. "Thank you," she mutters into his neck as she wraps herself around him.

His arms fold around her, holding her close. "Merry Christmas, baby," he whispers to her.

Clint tosses Lila onto the couch behind him, causing the room to temporarily fill with ecstatic giggles. "It'll be hard," he says to the couple before him. "Raising that cat." His voice takes on an almost wistful quality as he continues what is obviously meant to be a stirring speech. "Might be the hardest thing you two will ever do together."

"Clint," Laura bemoans from the sofa.

"But it'll be worth it," he says, nodding his head. "Being parents… it's worth it." Just then, Lila flies off the couch, slamming into him from behind, causing him to rock dangerously forward. Bucky reaches out and quickly pulls Tessa's braced leg over his lap to get it out of the way of the stumbling man.

"Stick with cats," Laura tells them, raising her voice over the boisterous laughter of the little girl who's now being attacked by her father with tickles.

"Or a dog," Cooper offers, moving back to the corner of the room where his gifts lie. He gives his mother an almost stern stare. "Some of us still want a dog." She responds by sticking her tongue out at him, earning her a perfectly preteen eye roll in reply.

The mayhem builds around them as little Nate pounces on his father too. But Bucky's eyes have wandered away from the chaos near his feet and are instead trained on the window. "You expecting someone?" he asks suddenly, narrowing his eyes as he peers at the SUV battling through the snow-covered terrain outside. "There's a car coming up the drive."

Clint sits up with a groan, pinning a squirming Lila tightly to his chest. "A car? Well I guess it can't be Santa then."

"Santa already came, daddy," she tells him through a wide, toothy grin.

"Well then, who could it be?!" He gets up off the floor, hoisting both her and Nathaniel with him, and walks to the door as Bucky watches suspiciously.

Tessa rotates around in his lap so she can see the door too, and when he glances down at her, he notices that she's got her lower lip pinned between her teeth, biting hard in an attempt to keep from smiling. "What do you know?" he asks, a light quality to the otherwise wary inquiry.

"Well, I didn't really have the chance to get out and do much shopping, so I had to get creative."

Bucky cocks his head confusedly just as, "Aunt Nat!" sounds from the opposite end of the room. He turns to see Lila bounce out of her father's arms and into Natasha's, burdening her before she can even make it through the front door. The redhead shakes her hair free of the freshly fallen snow while trying to maneuver herself – and the kid – further into the house. Behind her, Steve emerges, carrying two large bags filled with festively wrapped parcels.

"That was brutal," he says, stomping the snow off his boots at the door. "You didn't say we were gonna have to drive through a frozen tundra."

Without looking back at her, Bucky asks Tessa, "You got me Romanov and Steve for Christmas?" He gently sweeps her off his lap and into the corner of the oversized chair so he can rise. His expression is light and content, but not exactly overjoyed.

"Is that okay?" she asks, looking up at him hesitantly.

He shrugs before heading over to greet the new guests. "Would've preferred a new calendar."

Tessa awkwardly hoists herself out of the chair and reaches for the crutches propped up against the wall. "Yeah, because I'm looking so damn sexy right now," she mutters to herself as she painfully positions the crutches under her arms so she can hobble over to the group.

Everyone is all smiles and _Merry Christmases_ as Laura takes coats and Clint and Cooper collect the bags from Steve's arms. "Hey, there she is," the Captain enthuses as Tessa offers a quick hug before ducking beneath Bucky's arm and leaning heavily into his side.

"Here I am."

Bucky pulls her in close as he says to Steve, "I thought you two were somewhere in Africa."

He nods. "We were. But somebody called in a favor to get us here for Christmas," he says, winking over at Tessa.

She shrugs innocently. "Well, you two have been together for almost every Christmas – that you were consciously aware of anyway. And I'm a sucker for tradition. And snowball fights. And hot chocolate with bourbon."

Bucky's brow wrinkles in thought. "You called in a _favor_?"

Her face blushes just the slightest bit. "Storm and Logan took over recon for a few days so Steve and Natasha could both come home. I thought about just trading for Steve, but I figured everyone here would want to see Nat too… and really, I couldn't ask Logan to go on his own. He needs a babysitter."

"You know that guy is _terrible_ with technology," Steve mentions, slipping off his boots and casually checking his phone. "He can barely text mission updates."

"Yeah, well, he's an old man."

He gives her a dubious look. "_I'm _an old man. And I've been able to figure out the cell phone."

She blows out a low breath. "He's a hell of a lot older than you," she says definitively, ignoring the confusion that rolls over his features.

"The _Wolverine_ is a hell of a tracker, though," Natasha interrupts, giving Tessa's arm a swift squeeze as she moves past, sauntering over to the tree where Lila and Nate wait not-so-patiently for Clint to unpack the bags of what they assume must be gifts for them.

"Wolverine?" Bucky questions.

Ignoring him, Tessa looks to Steve and asks, "How's Sam?" Then, with a quirked brow and a mischievous grin, "How's he getting along with Logan?"

Steve just laughs. "He said he's put up with worse. He's getting along pretty well with Storm, though," he intones, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Clint steps back into the group, clapping Steve on the shoulder as he tells him, "Nat gave them their gifts to rip into. Hope that's okay. I didn't have the energy to stop her."

"Already spent?" he asks with a chuckle. "It's not even eleven yet."

He drops his head and shakes it lamentingly – "Kids, man" – earning him another laugh from the super soldier. When he looks back up, his face is more sober, businesslike. "So… we trust these guys now? What are their names? Logan and…"

"Storm," he supplies, glancing at Tessa out of the corner of his eye. He shrugs. "I don't know them well enough to trust them. But Tess does, and I guess that's good enough for me. At least for now."

"They're good people," Tessa utters with a determined jut of her chin. "I promise."

Clint nods. "Okay," he breathes out. "Guess that's good enough for me too." He turns around to see that the kids are already done opening their newest presents and are now splayed out on the floor with them. He claps his hands together. "Who's ready for round two of coffee?"

Everyone but Laura heads into the kitchen, where the scents of coffee and bacon remain lingering in the cool air. Natasha gets started on a fresh pot of coffee, rummaging through cabinets like she owns the place. In addition to easily finding clean mugs and filters, she pulls out the bottle of Rumchata from the cabinet over the fridge.

"You guys hungry?" Clint offers, grabbing a saran wrapped dish from the counter filled with homemade cookies.

Nat quickly peels back a corner of the wrapping and swipes one before he can lay the tray on the table. "You bring me into a room smelling of bacon and only offer cookies?" she asks around the gingerbread popped into her mouth.

"We're good," Steve says with a short laugh. "Grabbed something at the airport this morning. At least not _everywhere_ is closed on Christmas."

Bucky settles into the chair cattycorner from Steve. "You just flew in this morning?"

He nods. "We were following a handful of mercenaries all tied to this _Crossbones_, and we lost a couple, so it delayed us by a day."

Natasha leans her hip into the counter as she glances at the woman by her side. "Your friends found him. No joke about that guy's tracking skills."

Tessa hums in approval. "Logan's got some… special talents."

"Yeah, about that," Steve says a bit sheepishly from the kitchen table. He pulls in a breath and clears his throat before looking up at Tessa, his face quickly changing from nervous to matter of fact. "We debriefed them on the whole Lobe thing."

Her face pinches when she asks, "What do you mean?"

"Well, you said that the X-Men spent some time dealing with Sublime's radical extremists. And while Lobe might not have exactly been bought into the religious element of his teachings, we know he was working towards the same goal."

"The Third Species," she mutters absently.

Steve shrugs uncomfortably. "We haven't found a trace of him more than six months. Nothing. But it's a safe bet that he won't stay in hiding forever."

"I'm less concerned with where he is than what he's doing," she says, voice suddenly stern.

Again, Steve nods. "Me too. That's why I figured – " He glances quickly at Natasha. "_We_ figured… that maybe they could help. Besides, if there are experiments being run on mutants… or if mutants are at all in any kind of danger…" He lets out a long, deep sigh. "It seemed like the right thing to do, bringing them in on it."

Clint gives him a curious look. "Bringing them in? So, what, we're working with them now? With the X-Men?"

Tessa shifts her weight on the crutches, bringing herself to a greater height. "That's so awful?"

"No," he issues out. "But it is a pretty damn big deal." He turns a harsh stare on Steve. "You think it might've been good to consult the rest of the team first?"

Steve slowly shakes his head. "We looked into this case after it basically fell in our laps. But let's be honest, Barton. This is something that they have way more experience with."

"And they have a right to know," Bucky interjects quietly, shifting almost imperceptibly in his seat. "If they're all potentially at risk… they have a right to know."

"I don't disagree," Clint comments, his voice and expression serious. "But I do think it's something you should've run by all of us."

Steve leans back in his chair and raises his eyebrows at the man. "Noted," he quips, the single word all he's willing to give by way of an apology.

The archer understands fully what he's saying, he's _heard_ it a million times before. _Your concerns are noted, Agent. But you don't get to make the call._ As much as it might irk him at times, he has, admittedly accepted his role over the years. Afterall, he has no desire to be the one calling all the shots. Heavy is the head that wears the crown. So he doesn't push. Instead, he simply asks, "So what now?"

Steve's face twists in thought, brows knitting as he says, "I don't really know. Storm said that they'd see what – if anything – they could dig up. If they find something, we'll regroup."

"In the meantime," Natasha fills in, "we have a potential terrorist on our hands. One who was trained by SHIELD _and_ Hydra… and seems to have a bone to pick with the whole damn world." The coffee pot clicks and she begins filling up the line of mugs atop the counter. "This week's maniacal sociopath is Rumlow," she says, handing a couple of cups over to Clint when he rises from the table. "Next week we can come back to Lobe."

"Merry fucking Christmas," Bucky mutters under his breath, earning him a quick smack and a reproachful glare from Steve.

"That about sums it up," Nat says as she liberally pours liqueur into 2 of the cups of coffee – one for her and one for Laura. She slides another mug – free of Rumchata – over to Tessa, and smiles glibly.

Tessa takes a step forward and looks longingly at the mugs in Nat's hands. "No fair," she murmurs, resting her chin on her friend's shoulder.

"Sorry, _golubushka_. You're supposed to be taking care of yourself," she says before turning to face her. "I trust you haven't been binge drinking these past few days?"

A small sparkle blooms in her eyes. "It's not New Years yet."

"You're impossible," Natasha huffs, leaning her hip into the counter.

Clint sets down his cup and drops heavily into a seat at the table. His demeanor seems far more relaxed as he asks Steve, "Did you hear the news?" A sly smile perks his lips and he takes a long pull from his mug. Steve and Bucky both give him curious looks. "Doc and the Sarge are going to be parents."

Bucky sputters and nearly chokes on his coffee as Steve stares slack jawed. "Uh," the Captain mutters. "What?"

"A _cat_," Bucky corrects, wiping dribbled coffee from his chin as he turns to give a giggling Tessa a reproachful glare. He turns his ire on Clint, but the smug-looking archer refuses look at him, not giving him the satisfaction of threatening him with a biting scowl. "We're getting a cat," he says to Steve.

Tessa sucks up the sniggers and pouts over at Steve's still somewhat alarmed face. "You can't say shit like that to him," she tells Clint, earning her a conspiratorial wink in response.

"It's true," Natasha quips, coy smirk flashing. "He's an old man. You could give him a heart attack."

Steve quirks his head at Bucky, ignoring their disparaging comments. "Okay, I'm still confused," he says. "_Relieved_. But confused."

He takes another sip of coffee before clearing his throat and answering, "Barn cat had kittens. And that one," he points back at Tessa, "fell in love with the damn things."

"_Things_?" she questions from behind. "You're talking about our baby and his sibling."

He rolls his eyes dramatically, but a soft smile rolls over his features just the same. "So we're getting a cat."

Natasha pushes off the counter, two full mugs in hand. "As long as it's not the orange one. I called dibs on her."

Everyone in the room – with the exception of Clint, who knew exactly where the other cat was going – turns to her with wide eyes. "You're getting a cat too?" Steve asks.

She shrugs. "I like cats. They're my spirit animal."

"Yeah, I can see that," Bucky mutters under his breath as he shifts back around to the table.

"Wait a minute," Steve utters, absolute bewilderment pinching his face. "Tony's okay with that? With having cats in the compound?"

"I doubt it," Natasha responds. "Actually, I hope not. That's half the reason I want the little clawed bastard."

"Baby," Tessa corrects before taking a long, savored drink of the coffee in her hands.

Natasha turns on her with a suspicious stare. "Did you just put Rumchata in that?" Tessa shrugs. She raises a single warning eyebrow at her friend and sets down one of her mugs on the counter. "Give it," she says, tone allowing for no argument. Tessa narrows her eyes and glares daggers at the woman before her. Nat extends her hand. "Give that up now, and we can have hot chocolate and bourbon later."

"Why should I have to choose?" she asks with a pout. "I can have them both."

"No, you can't," she challenges, quirking her fingers in a _gimme_ gesture.

Tessa pulls the mug to her chest protectively. "I have trained my body for years to get it accustomed to massive amounts of alcohol. My _one_ kidney can probably handle more than your two put together."

She smirks. "That may be the dumbest thing you've ever said, _Doctor_ Sullivan."

The two women continue their standoff until Bucky rises from the table with a deflating sigh. He walks up to Tessa and pries the mug from her hands, huffing in irritation at how hard she makes it to peel her fingers from the handle. "You just managed to get a cat," he tells her dully. "Don't push your luck, sweetheart."


	10. The People I Love

Clint had been breaking down the dining room for about a year now – gradually moving things out in preparation to knock down the adjoining wall and open up the living space some more. But as with all things, life kept getting in the way and the project was _dragging_ on. Now, as the room sits half emptied of its furniture, cloaked in barren walls, it looks to be more of a dumping ground than a dining room.

"We've been calling it the junk room," Clint says, as he leads Steve in. "Nate's not even allowed in here anymore. Too much crap for him pull on top of himself and get buried under. We try to keep Lila out too but… well good luck telling that kid what to do." He cocks his head at his oldest son, who's sitting at the table with Tessa. "This guy's sort of taken the place over."

"It's my office," he quips without looking up. The only furniture that remains in the room is the dining set. The table itself is half covered with… well… junk. But the other half had become a sort of haven for Cooper to do his homework in peace – or to _say_ he's doing his homework while he actually plays games on his laptop. Now, though, he sits with his new chemistry set laid out before him, the scientist at his side hurriedly scrawling out different formulas into a thick notebook.

"You're not showing him how to blow things up, are you?" Clint asks suspiciously, leaning over her shoulder to get a closer look.

She stops writing, leans back in the chair and begins chewing the top of her pen as she reads over her work. "Hard to say," she mutters. "Get the formulation off just slightly and… maybe."

Steve chuckles as Clint lets out a resigned sigh. "Go wash up for dinner," he tells his son, dropping his palm to his shoulder. He looks at Tessa as Cooper rises to leave. "And _you_… you better check over your work there. If he uses anything you gave him to destroy my house or poison his siblings, I'm holding you personally responsible."

She rolls her eyes, continuing to chew the pen as she speaks around it, offering up a quote learned long ago. "Art is the tree of life. Science is the tree of death."

Clint's face goes utterly blank. "What?"

"William Blake," she says with a shrug before finally looking up at him. "I'm only introducing him to science. What he does with it is on him."

He cocks his head at her suspiciously. "Nooo," he drawls out. "If you're gonna _introduce_ my kid to science, you damn well better teach him to use it for good, not evil."

She plucks the pen from her mouth and recites, "You cannot teach a man anything, you can only help him find it within himself."

"What the hell is happening?" he asks, a bit flustered.

"Galileo," she offers by way of explanation.

Steve lets out another short laugh. "She's got a million of them. This could go on for a while."

"The beauty of a living thing is not the atoms that go into it, but the way those atoms are put together," she says with a raised brow, working to keep the teasing smile from perking her lips.

"Oo, that's a good one," Steve comments. "Who's that?"

"Carl Sagan. One of my personal favorites."

Clint bellows out an exaggerated huff and turns on a heel. "I can't with you right now," he mutters as he quickly ducks out of the room.

Laughing, Steve drops down into the seat next to her at the table. "I forgot about your crazy quotes."

She looks over at him with a crooked smile. "Crazy? What do you mean crazy?"

"It's _crazy_ that you can keep all that up there," he says, reaching out and lightly tapping on her temple. He settles back into his chair. "Give me one more."

She pulls in a deep breath and sits upright. "A day spent with you is my favorite day. So today is my new favorite day."

Even in the low light of the cavernous dining room, she can see his blue eyes grow bright. "_That_ is a good one," he says, small but genuine smile sweeping over his face.

She nods. "Winnie the Pooh."

They sit in silence for a long moment, Tessa staring down at the unpacked chemistry set as she debates whether or not to put things away, Steve staring over at her as he decides whether or not to say, "You look exhausted."

She glances up at him with a raised, almost accusing brow. "If people keep saying that to me, I'm going to develop a rather serious complex."

"I mean…" He laughs lightly. "You look great. You do. Just… tired."

She flops back into her seat and breathes out, "These kids… they wear you down."

"Yeah, I'll bet," he chuckles. "Place looked like a warzone when we got here, so I can't imagine what the morning was like."

She offers a small smile. "It was nice, actually. Being here… getting to be part of a real family for a while… it was nice."

"But you're ready to get back home?"

"Oh, God yes," she enthuses, pulling yet another hearty laugh from the man to her right. "And I am tired," she says after a beat, her words soft, voice a bit meek. She looks up and meets his crisp, clear gaze, but says nothing else.

If her words or demeanor bother him – or worry him – he doesn't let it show. There's still a small, gracious grin curling his lips as he asks, "How are you feeling? Really?"

She stares into his eyes for a long moment as she debates internally how to answer that. Then, with a slight frown, she says, "I feel… lost." He nods, an indication for her to continue, and she huffs out a breath, amused and amazed – not for the first time – at his unique ability to get her to talk about things that she'd really rather not discuss. "I don't know," she starts, releasing a small giggle when she sees his face transform into a skeptical scowl.

"Tess," he says simply, warning note to the otherwise warm tone.

She sighs. "It's not all up here," she says, winding a finger near her temple in a _crazy_ gesture. "It's not just that."

"Okay," he intones, drawing the word out as an invitation to go on. She looks up at him with a sad, tired gaze – _worn_, he thinks, _weary_.

"My iron's still low. Or it was the last time I checked it. Anemia can be exhausting," she mutters, ducking her head in seeming embarrassment. "And my blood pressure… it's not crazy high… but…"

His brow furrows. "Is that because of the surgery? Because they removed your kidney?"

She nods… then shrugs. "Maybe. Who knows? Honestly, I'm stressed out. You know? Right now… everything that's going on… yeah, I'm a little stressed out. So that might be why it's a bit high. But hypertension is more common following a nephrectomy. So it has me worried. Has the doctor in me worried." She quirks a brow. "Which stresses me out _more_…"

He lets out a small laugh. "So you need to relax and stop spiraling."

"Story of my life," she deadpans.

"How 'bout the leg? How's that feeling?"

She gives him an apprehensive side-eye glare. "Why? You gonna try and make me run?"

"I might wait until you're off the crutches, but yeah. That leg's part metal now. It should be stronger than ever," he tells her with a crooked grin.

"While I assume I'll essentially be bionic at some point," she retorts, "right now, all I'm getting is a shit ton of pain."

He grimaces in solidarity. "Still that bad?"

She shrugs. "I've been trying to wean myself off the meds. I'm tired enough without them. And they make it hard for me to think, to focus."

"Yeah, but if you need them…"

She waves a hand dismissively through the air – "I know. I know." – before letting out a giant huff and stating, "Anyway, _that's_ how I'm feeling."

He nods definitively, clapping his hands together. "Alright then," he says, captain-like authority permeating his voice. "Then we just need to get you home so you can rest up some more. This place is a little nuts. But we'll get you back home, and I'll make you chicken soup, and we can get started on your physical therapy."

"We?" she asks, brows rising in surprise.

"Of course. If you're not gonna run with me in the mornings, then the least you can do is _walk_ with me."

She shakes her head, wide smile taking over her face as she lets out a small laugh. Silence falls between them and after a brief moment a troubled look washes over her face. "Steve," she starts, seeming to hesitate thereafter. Her eyes bounce quickly around the room before returning to his now concerned face. "Steve…"

"Tessa," he prompts, giving her a light, encouraging smile.

She pulls in a deep breath and says, "Thanks for telling them. About Lobe." She shakes her head and looks away. "I should've told them. I should've told them when everything first started." Her hands drop from the table and into her lap where she begins the all-too common compulsion of twisting and worrying her fingers together. "I just… I had this thought that… I _do_ trust them. And I _do_ love them. They're my family. But…"

Steve's brows pinch together as he tries to complete her thought. "But you were confused. And lost. And even if you thought that they _should_ know, you didn't really know how to tell them."

She nods and lets out a short chuckle. "Yeah. Sort of." She releases a deep breath. "If I had told them, though… if we just would've turned it all over to the X-Men to begin with, none of this would be happening right now."

"None of what exactly?" he asks, training an adamant stare on her. "What did Logan say? _The past won't stay hidden forever_?"

"Maybe it should," she says with a deflating sort of sigh.

He shakes his head vehemently. "No. I don't think so. I know you're scared. But, Tessa, you're being given the opportunity to get your life back."

"It's not my life," she tells him definitively.

He glances down and sees her fingers violently pulling at one another. Frowning, he reaches over to force her hands apart. "I thought you were okay with this," he says, twining his fingers with hers. "When you called the other day and said you were going to do it – have Xavier… put you back together – you sounded like that's what you wanted."

She stares down at her hand in his and lets out a labored sigh. "You know why I do that?" she asks softly, twisting in his grip and firmly tugging at the flesh of his hand. "You know why I twist and pull and scrub my fingers like that?"

She gazes up at him as he shakes his head. "No."

"Because I can still feel her blood dripping onto them… warm, _hot_ blood. And I can still feel those cold electric shocks pulsing through them. And I can still feel that _horrible_ energy buzzing out of my fingertips." She pulls her hand from his and balls it into a tight fist. "I didn't know… for the longest time, I just thought… I thought it was a nervous tick. But I _knew_ if felt different. When I did it… it wasn't just a weird habit. It was… purposeful." She gazes into his steely eyes as she tells him, "Now I do know. I've been trying to wipe Jean's blood off my hands for years. I've been trying to force out the… power that killed her. And now… now I'm going to call it back?"

His expression is a pained mix of sympathy and guilt. "Tess, you don't have to do this. If you don't want to…"

"But you think I should. And Clint thinks I should. Logan sure as hell thinks I should. Even James is telling me I should."

"But you don't have to listen to any of us. It's your choice." She pinches her eyes tightly shut and drops her head. "But," he goes on, voice firm and unyielding, "I think that you want to."

"Of course I do," she nearly sobs, eyes still plastered shut. "I _need_ to."

He reaches over to take both of her fisted hands in his, and he squeezes them tightly. "Then let's do it." Her eyes slowly flutter open and she raises her gaze to meet his. "All of us – you, me, Bucky, Nat, Clint… hell, even Tony will be on board if it means helping you." He gives her a single firm nod. "You're not alone in this. You don't need to be afraid. We can do it together," he says decisively, refusing to break eye contact until she returns his nod with one of her own.

000

The entire Barton clan participates in the traditional Christmas snowball fight… and for all intents and purposes, they win. But the real victory is exhausting the kids to the point that they're all in bed – or in Cooper's case, quietly playing on his computer – by seven. Which means Clint is able to clean off the far patio and set up the fire pit, creating the perfect spot for enjoying everyone's other favorite Christmas tradition, hot chocolate and bourbon.

But it doesn't take long for even the adults to slowly fade, exhaustion from the day's events setting a weight in their bones. First out is Clint, who says he's just going to pop up and check on the kids, yet mysteriously never returns. "He does this all the time," Laura tells the group as she rises herself. "Makes up an excuse to leave a party and then ducks out for good. He's probably in there snoring on the couch."

"And you?" Natasha asks with a raised brow as the woman begins gathering empty mugs and candy wrappers. "What's your excuse for leaving?"

Even in the dim firelight, they can see the gleam in Laura's eye as she says, "I don't need an excuse. Goodnight."

Natasha sniggers a bit, then looks over at Tessa, who appears to be passed out by Bucky's side. She's got her head in his lap and a thick blanket pulled up to her chin. But there's a pained look that takes over her face as she shifts awkwardly on the makeshift log bench. "Come on," Nat says, giving her a gentle jostle. "You're not fooling anybody. You're uncomfortable as hell out here."

She sits up slowly, saying with a yawn, "You gonna make getting me to bed _your_ excuse?"

Natasha nods emphatically, rising and extending her hand to the woman. "Damn right. I've been stuck out in the snow enough in my life. I'm an indoor creature now." She hoists Tessa up and hands over her crutches before saying to Bucky, "I'll get her to bed. But just so you know, I'm probably going to fall asleep right next to her."

"In _my_ bed?" he asks with a quirked brow.

Tessa slowly moves past her, taking her time on the wet pavers as Nat retorts with, "It's the guest bed. And everyone here knows I'm the favored guest," before turning to follow.

Bucky looks over at Steve – the only remaining person by the fire – and says simply, "Guess we better ask Barton for some sleeping bags."

Steve chuckles and takes a sip of what by now is straight bourbon. "Just like old times," he quips with a smile. The two sit in the cold calm, listening to the wind whistle through the branches of the naked trees as the slowly dwindling fire issues out sporadic pops. "Hey," Steve starts after a long moment. "I wanted to say… thanks. For not being upset about us talking to Storm and Logan. You know… about Lobe."

Bucky leans over and grabs the liquor bottle to refill his mug. "Like you said, they deserved to know. And they're better equipped to deal with it," he says with a shrug.

"Yeah, I know. It's just… after last time… after I talked to them last time…"

He waves a dismissive hand through the air. "That was different. That was… personal."

Steve hangs his head. "I know."

Bucky takes in his friend's reticent demeanor and clears his throat awkwardly. "Hey, about that… listen…"

"You don't have to apologize," Steve tells him firmly as his head pops back up.

Bucky lets loose a small, almost bitter chuckle. "Yeah, I wasn't going to. Not for all of it." Then his face turns grave, light eyes darkening as he says, "But the thing I said about…" He shakes his head regretfully. "It wasn't your fault. The op with Lobe, what happened to Tess. That wasn't your fault. And I never should've said it was."

Steve nods, but says nothing in return. There's nothing to say, really. He'd like to believe that what Bucky says is true, that his handling – or mishandling – of that mission isn't what got them all to this point. But he's probably never going to let the guilt over that one go. Not when he very nearly lost one of his best friends. Not when he knows that if he _had_ lost Tessa that day, he likely would've lost Bucky too.

But they weren't lost, he reminds himself. Somehow, they got out of that in _mostly_ one piece. And if one good thing did come from it, it's that Tess now has the chance to be herself again… to be whole… to live the life she was meant to lead. Steve's face splits into a wide, almost childlike smile as he thinks about what that life has in store.

"You know," he starts, teasing tone causing Bucky's shoulders to drop in trepidation. "If you two are going to be _parents_, maybe you should consider making it official. You know… get married."

Bucky rolls his eyes and takes another swig of the bourbon in his hand. "You're funny."

Steve just laughs, shaking his head in amusement. "I know that ring's been burning a hole in your pocket."

"I never should've told you about that."

"Told me?!" he laughs. "I picked that ring out!"

Bucky gives him a disbelieving glare. "You pointed at the case in the jewelry store. Not the same thing."

"I pointed at _that ring_," he corrects. "And to be honest, I'm getting a little tired of not seeing it on my friend's hand. I picked it out for _her_ after all." He looks over at Bucky, expecting to catch another annoyed glare. But he's met instead with the outline of a somber face focused down on the half-empty cup in his hands. He gives him a quick, playful nudge with his shoulder. "Just ask her, man."

Bucky glances over at him, lets out a small snort of a laugh. "It's not that simple."

Steve gives him a disappointed look. "Bullshit."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Bucky intones, suddenly sitting upright. "I forgot, how many women have you proposed to?"

The question manages to wipe the self-assured smirk off his friend's face as he mumbles out a, "Shut up."

The corners of Bucky's mouth quirk up into a mocking grin. "How many women have you even asked out to dinner?" he asks with a knowing twinkle in his eye.

Steve looks up at him and, cocking a single eyebrow, says, "Maybe I'll ask Tessa out. I mean, if you don't really see this thing between the two of you going anywhere…"

Bucky swallows the last of his bourbon and sets the mug on the ground. "Yeah," he utters as he leans back and stretches out his neck. "I don't think you're ready for that, pal. Gotta learn to walk before you can run."

He lets out a long sigh. "You're probably right. She can be a bit of a handful." His face shifts suddenly into a grave expression and he narrows his eyes at Bucky. "Don't tell her I said that."

For the first time since they arrived earlier that day – for the first time in weeks, really – Steve hears the full, bright, hearty laugh that he used to so easily recognize tumble out from Bucky's smiling lips. "Why is everybody always so scared of her?" he chuckles.

"Oh, you're not?" he asks smiling as a deep, familiar warmth pools in his chest at the sight of his friend's amicable gaze.

He shakes his head distractedly. "I'm scared of how she can _be_," he replies. "But I'm not scared of _her_."

Steve just shrugs – "Same thing" – and takes a quick swig of liquor before falling silent.

"She found the ring," Bucky says after a moment, his words quiet and clipped. He lets out a deep breath, followed by a self-deprecating laugh, and turns to look at the man to his left. "After I got shot… she was doing _laundry_," he issues out with a snigger. The smile drifts slowly from his face, leaving only a small trace of wistfulness in its wake. He shrugs. "She found the ring in my drawer, and she told me not to do it."

Steve's brow furrows in confusion, his head cocking to the side. "Not to do it?"

"Propose," he says, clearing his throat when the word catches in his chest. His gaze drifts to the dwindling fire in from of them, eyes intently watching as the small flames lick upward, fighting for purchase as the wind continues to blow them back down. "She told me not to ask her to marry me."

Steve's eyes go wide, the perplexed expression he's wearing only deepening. "Why?" he asks, voice dripping with both disbelief and a sort of pained concern. "Why would she say that?"

Bucky doesn't look away from the fire. "She doesn't want me to have to go through losing her… again." The words tumble out of him in a deep tenor, carrying a sort of melancholy truth that burns at the back of his throat. He shakes his head sadly, saying, "She's worried I'll outlive her – by a lot," before turning his gaze back on Steve. He can almost see things click in place in his friend's deep blue eyes.

He nods, his expression quickly morphing from confusion to a deep understanding. The corner of his mouth quirks into a shrewd smile. "She doesn't want you to hurt," he says simply.

"In fairness to her, she _knows_ how much it hurt." Steve gives him a questioning look and he responds with, "When she drowned… she _felt_ us there. All of us. _Me_. She felt what it was like for me to lose her."

He takes in a sharp breath. "She told you that?" Bucky nods. "She told you she _felt_ us?" Another nod, this one slow and sorrowful. Steve's eyes drift, focusing on nothing as the memories of how he felt that day pull at the back of his mind. It does make sense. He knows how easily she can sense extreme emotions – intense energies. But the thought that she would've _felt_ what he felt, what Bucky felt, as they pulled her lifeless body from that river… "Shit."

Bucky snorts a sharp laugh. "Yeah. Shit."

Steve snaps his eyes back to him. "But…" he starts, further words dying on his tongue. "But…" he tries again. "No one knows how long they'll live. Not even you and me." His gaze sharpens as he focuses on Bucky's somber expression. "We might have an advantage. We _might_ live a long time yet. But… no one knows. And even if they did… that's no reason not to live life now… not to make this life what you want it to be in the here and now."

A small, satisfied smile pulls at Bucky's lips. "I know. I tried to tell her that. And I think she gets it."

"But she'd still say no?" he asks, brows knitted together. "If you asked her to marry you – even though she loves you and she wants to be with you – she'd still say no?"

"No, actually," Bucky admits, shaking his head slowly. "No. She told me not to ask her because she _couldn't_ say no."

Steve stares at him for a long moment before choking out an absurd laugh. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

Bucky raises his eyebrows and works to stifle a snicker of his own. "Well, she seemed pretty serious when she said it."

"And you didn't just tell her to get over it?" he asks, his laugh fading and face slowly turning stony. He turns bodily towards Bucky and throws back his shoulders as he stares him down. "You tell her that she doesn't get to do that to you – or to herself." He aims a strong, pointed finger at Bucky's chest as he goes on, his voice every bit the commanding leader. "You tell her she doesn't get to pretend that she knows the future. And she doesn't get to assume that she can keep _anyone_ from hurting. Ever. That's life. And she might be a _superpowered_ human, but she's still human, so _life_ is just something she's gotta learn to deal with."

Bucky chuckles, his face splitting into a huge smile as he holds his hands up in front of him in a gesture of surrender. "Alright," he laughs out. "I get it."

Steve's eyes narrow. "I'm serious."

"Yeah, pal," he says with a nod. "I see that."

"You tell her that, or I will." His shoulders relax a bit, tone calmer – even a bit teasing – when he says, "I know I said I wouldn't overstep again… but this time I will." Bucky cocks a disbelieving eyebrow at him. "I will," he affirms. Then, so quiet the words are almost carried away on the wind, he mutters, "Nobody's gonna keep the people I love from being happy. Nobody."


	11. Nothing Sweeter

"Home!" Tessa shouts the moment he flings the apartment door open. She blows past him, almost nailing him in the foot with a crutch as she hops over to the sofa and flops atop it. Immediately, she sinks into the worn cushions, turning her face to mutter into them, "I missed you so much."

Bucky lets out a soft groan as he kicks the door shut and heaves their bags off into a corner. "Last week you said this place was like a sealed tomb that you couldn't escape from," he points out as he ambles over and drops down onto the couch beside her.

She rolls her face toward him, never lifting her head from the cushion. "I say a lot of things."

"That you do," he replies with a smile and a contented sigh.

Tessa closes her eyes as she leans further back, letting herself dip deeper into the sofa's soft familiarity. The last week had been great. Meeting Nathaniel for the first time, playing with Lila, hanging out with Cooper, talking and laughing and drinking with Clint and Laura… it was all just fun and crazy and chaotic enough to pull her outside of her own head a bit. And it had been a long time since she'd seen – and _felt_ – that much joy on Christmas. The trip was worth it just for that jubilant energy she was able to pull in and tuck away.

But, well… it was still _a lot_. No one would believe – looking at the serene, bucolic farmhouse from the outside – the sheer volume of life inside that home. Only now, hours after leaving the Barton homestead, have the echoes of laughter and children's screams finally stopped reverberating through her ears. "Listen," she hums out softly.

Bucky cocks his head towards her, his brow furrowed. "I don't hear anything." He watches as a wide smile slowly spreads across her face. "Ah," he intones, understanding seeping through him as he lets his head fall back into the cushions so he too can soak in the blessed silence. He reaches out and lazily takes her hand in his, interlaces their fingers, and gives a quick squeeze. "It is _definitely_ good to be home."

The two sit like that for another twenty minutes or so, their soft, steady breaths falling quickly into rhythm as the tensions inherent with any sort of travel begin to fade away. But before the blissful solitude is able to lull him completely to sleep, Bucky forces himself up and off the couch. It is, after all, almost eight and they haven't eaten all day.

"Where are you going?" she asks when he rises, idly grabbing at the air as he moves past.

"Food," he mutters simply, heavy feet trudging into the kitchen.

She shifts on the couch, not quite willing to get up herself, and makes a command decision. "Friday?" she calls out to the voice in the walls. "Will you please order us a pizza?"

The AI responds with a quick, "Absolutely, Dr. Sullivan," and not a single question. There's only one pizza place close enough to deliver to the compound, and they only ever get a medium hand tossed with sausage and onions. So Friday knows better than to inquire any further.

Bucky huffs out an exhausted breath and leans back into the room, looming in the doorway to the kitchen. "You're so damn smart," he breathes out.

She releases a long sigh – "I know" – before glancing over just in time to see him take hold of their bags and hoist them all up at once. "_Now_ what are you doing?" she asks with a pout. "Just leave them. We can unpack tomorrow."

He heads back into the bedroom, shouting over his shoulder as he goes. "I told Steve I'd help him with the early morning training runs. And you have a follow-up in the city at eleven."

She groans loudly at the mention of her doctor's appointment. This whole getting hurt thing was bullshit. She used to be so good about convincing patients to be… well, patient. "Recovery takes time," she would tell them. Or…"Give your body time to heal." All the things that doctors normally tell their patients… she uttered that same advice with an authoritative air, never a doubt in her mind that despite the cliched sound of it all, it was very simply the _truth_.

But now she's on the other side of those adages – the angry, frustrated, pained side. And if she has to hear one more doctor tell her to take it easy and be patient, she's gonna lose her freaking mind.

She slowly pulls herself off the couch, grabs her crutches, and hobbles back to the bedroom. "I could reschedule the appointment," she says with a forced levity as she moves into the room.

Without looking away from the open suitcase before him, Bucky replies, "No you can't."

A deep, almost comical frown rolls over her features. "But I don't want to go," she whines, leaning heavily on one crutch.

He glances up at her and raises a single, assessing eyebrow. "You're going," he tells her before returning to the unpacking. "And I'm going with you so you don't have the chance to lie to me about any of it."

"Lie?" she questions, disbelief lacing her tone. "I don't lie about my…" she frowns down at her braced leg. "_Condition_."

He pulls a few neatly folded sweaters out of the suitcase and sets them on the bed, separating the clean clothes out from the dirty ones that are piling up at his feet. Then he looks over at her with a giant, knowing smirk. "Steve told me what you told him."

Her brows twist in confusion as she shifts her weight to the other crutch. "What did I tell him?"

"That you're still anemic and your blood pressure's been high."

She lets out a _psh_ and moves over to the edge of the bed, indelicately dropping down onto it. His eyes follow her every movement, down to the small, dismissive flap of her hand as she says, "I told him that it was a _little _high the last time I checked, which was days ago."

He shakes his head admonishingly and drops some more dirty clothes onto the floor. "Uh huh," he intones, returning his focus to the suitcase in front of him. "And he mentioned that you've been trying to ween yourself off the pain pills. Even though you _are in pain_."

She lies back on the bed and releases a deep sigh. "He's such a tattletale."

"Doll, you've got no idea," he says with a crooked smile. "As if being the smallest kid in class wasn't bad enough, Stevie was also the one who ratted out all the cheaters."

She lets out a small laugh before shifting into a more comfortable position. "Yeah, that makes sense. He's got that inflated sense of justice."

"Which is why he's always sticking his nose in where it doesn't belong," he mumbles, a hint of annoyance permeating the otherwise joking quality of his voice.

"Ugh," she moans, flinging her forearm across her forehead. "That reminds me… I have to call the Professor too."

Bucky turns his back on her, stepping over to the bureau to begin putting the clean clothes away. His face draws into an almost pained grimace. _The Professor_. Yes, she has to call him. She has to talk to him about… fixing her. He knows it's the right thing to do. It's the right thing for _Tessa_. But damn if the thought of her going back to that place – and going back to who she used to be – doesn't launch a deep, sick churning in his gut.

He tries to shake the qualms out of his head as he shoves a couple of T-shirts into a drawer. _It's right_, he tells himself. _It's what she needs. _He leans down and tucks away a pair of sweatpants. _She deserves to know about her past_. Then he opens the top drawer – his sock drawer – and drops in a couple pairs of socks. _She deserves… _

He loses his train of thought completely once he notices the little velvet box still buried in the righthand corner of the drawer. He lets his fingers slowly drift over to it, looming just above, the pad of his index finger barely brushing along the velvet surface. He stands stark still, silently contemplating what to do next as he stares down at the box, and all of the promises it contains.

She notices his oddly stilled form and asks, a note of concern to her voice, "What are you doing?"

Startled, he twists around to look at her, and he sees that she's got herself propped up awkwardly onto her elbows. She's also positioned a bit on her right side, which lets him know that her left is aching. He frowns over at her and, ignoring her question, he asks, "Did you take a pain pill?"

She rolls her eyes, flops back down onto the bed and extends her hand in a dramatic gesture. He smirks over at her before quickly snatching up the box and slamming the drawer shut. Then he grabs one of the just unpacked pill bottles and sits down on the bed beside her. He shakes out a single Percocet and drops it into her waiting palm. She tosses it back, swallowing dry. "I would've gotten you some water," he says with a laugh.

She simply sighs and moves further onto her right hip, curling about him. He reaches out and pets back the hair from her forehead. There's an edginess to his energy, a nervous, almost frightened undercurrent that she feels move through her the moment his fingers brush across her brow. "Are you sure about this?" she asks softly, folding her right arm beneath her head as she stares up at him.

He doesn't have to ask what she's talking about. "If you are."

They hold each other's gaze for a long, silent moment before she reaches up to take hold of the hand at her temple. "What's this?" she says, frowning as she feels his fingers tighten around something. She pulls his hand down and unfurls his fingers to reveal the small velvet box.

She's barely able to make out what it is before he – without any hesitation – pops open the box and removes the ring. "I know what you said," he murmurs, voice soft and low. "So… you don't have to think of it as an engagement ring if you don't want to." He gently grasps her left hand, stroking the back of it with the side of his cool metal thumb. "But I want you to wear it."

He slowly, delicately slides the ring onto her finger and for a moment she's stunned silent. There's something about the fit of the ring – how the band hugs her finger just right, how the barely there weight of it rests against her flesh – that just feels so… natural. "Jamie," she mutters distractedly, continuing to gaze down at her hand in his.

He twines his flesh and bone fingers with hers, carelessly nudging the giant emerald from side to side as he says, "I want you to have it. I want you to be able to look at it, anytime you're unsure about… anything. Anytime you think you might be forgetting who you really are." He shifts his focus from the ring to her eyes, and he looks deeply into them as he cups her face with his metal palm. "I want you to remember that _this_," he says, giving her fingers, her hand, a firm squeeze, "is who you are." He slowly brings her hand up to his chest, to his heart. "You're a part of me."

She's silent for a long moment, content to just gaze into his blue-gray eyes. She lightly presses a fingertip along his sternum, tracing the line of a scar that's now faded into nothing. The scar that she insists – despite knowing it's no longer there – she can still somehow feel. "What if I want it to be an engagement ring?" she asks softly.

He tries to hold back the huge smile that threatens to take over his face, tries to keep his cool lest his excitement spooks her. "Then it can be that," he offers with a casual shrug.

She quirks her head at him and shows off a coy grin. "But you didn't propose," she says with a teasing lilt.

"Oh, I didn't?" He wrinkles his brow, a sort of radiance burning through his eyes as he works to keep a straight face. "Do I need to get down on one knee?" She nods eagerly and he drops from the edge of the bed to kneel before her. "Better?"

Her face lights up as she tells him, "You better make this good," eliciting a small, almost nervous-sounding laugh from the super soldier.

"Alright," he says, clearing his throat. He looks down at the hand that still sits in his and quickly tugs the ring from her finger.

"Hey!"

"You can't expect me to propose without a ring," he says, amusement shining from his eyes.

She sighs dramatically. "Fine," she quips. "Go on."

He lets out a single short snicker before his face turns serious. A thoughtful, tender smile unfurls. "When I first met you," he starts, his eyes seeming to stare off at nothing. He shakes his head before letting out a soft, almost self-deprecating laugh. "For the longest time, I couldn't_ feel_. Not anything other than pain. And in the beginning, when I first came back… even when I was with Steve, I just felt… bad. Guilty, mostly." He looks down at her, locks onto her eyes. "You made me feel something," he says simply. "Something else. Something good." His smile grows wider, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "And then you made me feel… more."

"I made you fall in love with me," she teases.

He waggles a finger at her. "See, you are more powerful than you realize." He looks away for a fraction of a moment, an almost somber quality rolling over his features. She tightens her hand around his, bringing his gaze back to her, soft and tender. "You made me whole again. Or, as close as I'll ever get."

She stares into his steely eyes and feels his energy wash over her. She allows it to wrap around her, envelope her with the love and joy and adoration – and even the fear and anxiety… and _hope_ – that it contains. "I love you," she says softly, not even realizing that she said the words aloud until he emits a small laugh at the interruption. She ducks her head into the pillow. "Sorry," she utters bashfully.

He pulls in a quick breath, ready to start again. "I don't think I could ever be whole without you." His irises seem to darken, just a bit, at the gravity of that declaration. But they shine once more when he says, "I love you too. More than anything. You're so damn amazing."

She barks out a quick laugh, and moves to wipe away the few stray tears that seem to be leaking from her eyes.

He chuckles a bit at her reaction, but is still quick to point out that, "You are. You're beautiful, and funny… You make me laugh like no one else does. And you are so unbelievably smart."

"Go on," she singsongs, wiggling her eyebrows.

He shakes his head. "And you make me _crazy_," he teases. He brings his eyes back to hers, locks on once more. "And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Or the rest of _your_ life," he interjects quickly, rolling his eyes. "Whatever forever means for us… I want to spend forever with you." He holds up her left hand and carefully pivots the ring around in his fingers, holds it out just in front of her ring finger, prepared to slip it on. "Tessa Sullivan, will you marry me?"

She nods enthusiastically, unbidden tears now streaming steadily down her face. "Yes."

His brow furrows slightly. "Yes?" he asks, stopping for clarification just as the ring meets the very tip of her finger.

She can't tell if he's messing with her or if he actually is uncertain about her response. "Yes," she says louder. Then with a bit of a dramatic huff, "God, yes."

He laughs as he slides the ring back onto her finger, places it where it so obviously belongs, where he's longed to see it for so long now. And he leans down and kisses her softly, tenderly. But then she lets out the smallest string of sweet giggles, and he can't help but press deeply into her, almost moaning into her open mouth as he climbs onto the bed, propping himself up above her. She returns the kiss with a sort of joyful fervor, still smiling around his lips, still giggling into him as she tugs him closer.

He can taste the salt from her tears, and somehow, he thinks, she's never tasted sweeter.

* * *

**Author's Note:** That's it for this rather loooong interlude. We got some sweet fluff, some holiday fun, and some pretty important decisions. Stay tuned for what I guess will be Part 4 of Bucky and Tessa's story... coming soon. And thank you so much for reading...really.


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